


The Devils' Crimes

by kxytxx



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Abuse, Betrayal, Biological Warfare, Blood and Gore, False Memories, Flashbacks, Graphic Description, Love, M/M, Major Character Injury, Military, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Murder, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Relationship(s), Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-05-07 17:45:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 83,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19214392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxytxx/pseuds/kxytxx
Summary: As Frank navigates life as a back-alley Robin Hood, and Gerard struggles to adjust to life post-military, the two strangers are thrust into a world of the unknown and the enigmatic. A story of mystery and biological warfare, where not everything is as it seems.“Where are we going?” Gerard questioned, his feet planted flatly on the seat and knees pulled up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them, fingers pulling at the fabric of his jeans.“I don’t know.” Frank shook his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He sounded frantic, and that alone was enough to make Gerard uneasy. Frank was generally levelheaded, even when in danger, but his voice was laced in a cloud of fear. They had grabbed anything they could; clothes, phones, any food that was canned or bagged, Gerard’s gun and all of Frank’s various weaponry – just in case. Gerard leaned forward, placing his head into his knees. “Put your seatbelt on.”





	1. Chapter 1

God, it really was stunning, he thought audibly as he watched the crimson fluid flow through the gutter and into the storm drain. The color was positively indescribable to Frank, and the smell, oh my god the _smell._  
Frank scoffed and kicked the lifeless body with the heel of his boot to ensure it was, without question, dead, before wiping the blade off with a dirty grey cloth pulled from his pants pocket. He took a few more moments to inhale the scene, really capture the moment in his mind and take a mental picture of the scene below him.  
All of the bodies Frank had ever disposed of were discovered, and that was no accident. Frank wasn’t hiding his crimes, only erasing any trace of himself from them.  
Each body was discovered in the arrangement Frank saw fit, a fitting end to account for the persons life and choices, he decided.  
For a man of short stature, Frank’s strength was always grossly underestimated. Two years of dragging corpses through alleyways, up stairs, through drainage ditches and into gullies had made Frank solid and resilient. It was something that could only come from experience; Frank swore no gym could provide a workout quite as intense.  
Frank was dragging the body through the grass now, the man’s plump round ankles gripped firmly by Frank’s gloved fingers, nauseatingly expensive navy blue Loro Piana suit gathering mud and grass stains on the fabric, his shirt riding up and exposing his pale midsection, flush with knife wounds.  
It wasn’t very far that Frank had to struggle with the body, about 50 feet, but the difficult part came in the form of getting the 200 pounds of flesh into the dumpster once he reached the destination.  
Once Frank was satisfied with his placement, he took a moment to drop the man’s feet and breathe. A moment passed before a resounding bang came from about half a block away, making Frank startle. It was only a slammed car door, but he darted his eyes from end to end of the alleyway uncertainly nonetheless. He checked his watch with a groan, specks of blood on the face of it, on his tattooed arm, on the sleeve of his shirt. He had to finish up soon, or he would never make it into work in the morning.  
‘Sorry, man, but you won’t need these anymore.’ Frank commented as he knelt low to the ground, undid the man’s pants and non-too gingerly placed the knife just below the man’s pelvis. It took a moment for Frank to prepare himself, the knife in a position he was pleased with, but once he was it was with only a swift snap of his wrist the man, castrated, was ready to be disposed of for good.  
Frank heaved the corpse onto his shoulders with what looked like ease, a time tested move only learned from trial and error, and shoved it into the empty dumpster with a resonating thud, the genitals left what would look carelessly on the ground, a premeditated and well-planned move.  
Frank’s statement killing was what made his brand of murders unique. Frank didn’t just kill to kill, though he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy almost every second of it. Frank took pride in his effort, in making every detail flawless. He was a perfectionist.  
He stood back and studied his work, the detached organs lain in a gory pool on the concrete, a petrifying gesture that would surely caution whatever unsuspecting person found the owner of said genitalia’s body in the dumpster.  
With that, Frank began to walk away, his back turned from the scene, his only souvenir the mental images he took and specks of blood on his clothes. He was tired, ready to shower and sleep. He had done his noble deed for the foreseeable future. 

Frank’s apartment wasn’t anything remarkable; a simple floorplan, one bedroom, one bathroom in a small suburb of New Jersey. It was inconspicuous, and that was its main attraction for the killer. He had blackout curtains adorning most windows to block out the light so that he could sleep uninterrupted and triple locks on his front door so he could buy himself some time _just in case._ Aside from that, it was just ordinary. Worn tan loveseat on the right hand wall facing a box TV – DVD’s, games and various cords strewn across the carpet next to the rectangular coffee table.  
There was minimal furniture otherwise, homage to the fact that Frank rarely used much other than the bed, toilet and shower. He simply did not have time. Everything in his apartment whispered ’normal’ to the naked eye, but it was all deliberate and done so very much purposefully. The only odd thing you would find in Frank’s apartment from time to time would be the plastic wrap lining the carpet in a careful runway from the front door to the bathroom. Frank would set it out carefully before leaving at dusk for that when he came home just before dawn, bloodstained and weary, he didn’t track blood on the white studio carpeting.  
Frank tore off his boots and socks with a groan once he got through the door, fingertips rubbing at his angry red toes. The boots were a size 12, steel toe. Tissue paper and two heavy rocks stuffed into the front. It made his footprints looks larger, even if just two sizes, to throw any investigations off of his trail. He rarely left footprints – but Frank was a master of precaution.  
In the bathroom, Frank had bleach. Lots of it. He got used to the smell after some time, using it to clean his tools, his clothes, and even occasionally his body should he have been involved in a particularly messy killing that evening.  
He stepped under the near-scalding water, scrubbing at his skin roughly to rid himself of the night’s slog, dried blood flaking off his skin and undulating down the drain.  
Frank was usually careful to minimize the amount of gore that landed on him, but this particular man had tried fend Frank off; tried to wrap his portly fingers around Frank’s neck. The man had managed to press himself up against Frank, smearing his crimson blood on the shorter man’s torso and arms. This angered Frank, and he stabbed him again – and again, and again, until he was nothing but a lifeless corpse lying in his own filth, leaving Frank to leer over his dead form. He was already aching with the after effects of the struggle.  
Frank was almost sad to wash the remnants of the crime off his body, but exhaustion was overtaking him. Keeping up appearances meant working the day after a murder, no exceptions, no matter how fatigued and sore his body was. By the time Frank finally slinked into bed, it was nearing 4AM. He set his alarm for 8AM and shut his eyes tightly, sleep enveloping him easily.

“You’re late, Iero.”  
  
“Morning to you too, Vic.” Frank muttered, weariness showing in his voice. He sauntered on to the work site, still drowsy but determined to make it through the day without question. It was hot today, remarkably so for April, with little cloud cover to shield Frank from the sun. The fact that Frank was on his second cup of coffee wasn’t helping him keep cool, either, but, if Frank was going to do hard labor, he needed to be fully awake, no matter how much his body ached and protested.  
They were paving a residential road today, a job they had started about a week ago. Frank and Vic had spent three days with the rest of the crew tearing up the old concrete, setting down stones to level the ground that had been eroded away from years of cold winters, and salting. Frank knew he would be covered in tar and asphalt by the time he ended his shift. His hair would be matted down with dust and his forehead covered in sweat, dry concrete flaking off his dehydrated skin. Working construction wasn’t a job for the weak, he knew this going into it. His job helped to both keep him fit, and provide an alibi for where a majority of his time was spent. It paid well, well enough that Frank could live comfortably and fund his outside activities. Enough that he could buy the materials he needed, when he needed them. It wasn’t the life Frank thought he would grow up to have, but he was content, nevertheless.  
It was around 1:00PM while Frank was eating lunch with Vic in his truck, the local radio on as background noise and the air conditioning on full blast that he heard it.  
’And in other news, Charles Asplundh, the Trenton businessman who was tried for and eventually acquitted of the brutal rape of his neighbors daughter, was found dead this morning behind Sun Valley Day Care in Belleville, in what is suspected to be homicide. In December, Asplundh was acquitted of the first degree rape and beating of a nine year old child due to the improper handling of evidence, despite mounting suspicion that he was bribing the court system, in what was considered to be a publicly outrageous verdict. You will recall that Sun Valley Day Care is the same location that the child was abducted from on March 13th of last year before being drugged and assaulted. No word on the exact cause of death, but stay tuned and we will bring you updates as they come available. Unusually warm weather today…’ The voice on the radio trailed off and Frank lost interest.

“Fuckin’ crazy man.” Vic remarked through bites of his sandwich. Frank watched a piece of deli meat slide out of Vic’s mouth, down his chin and on to his shirt with the words. “Dead rapist behind a daycare; weird poetic justice.”  
  
Frank nodded in agreement thoughtfully. “Mmm. Suppose so.”  
  
“Guy had it coming though; doubt they’re going to look real hard for his killer. Shit, I bet it was the girls’ dad or something.” Vic continued.  
Frank tittered, amused. He silently recalled the events of the night before, flexing his biceps lightly in his uniform just to feel the remnants of the ache. It burned. He balled up his paper bag, brushing his shirt off for crumbs and opened the door to the truck.  
  
“I’m going to head back out.” Frank said before exiting the truck. “Oh, and when you get back to the office, could you order me another box of latex gloves? I’m getting low.”  
  
Vic nodded, his mouth full of ham and cheap white bread. “You go through them things like water.”  
  
Frank gave him a thumbs up and shut the door behind him.

Frank was watching the news in his living room, a seemingly quiet night in. He mostly only watched the news, sometimes true crime shows – you could never have too many tips and tricks up your sleeve. There hadn’t been anything to peak his interest in the past few days; no corruption to scope out at the moment. He would wait for the perfect person – that one individual that truly, undoubtedly deserved to be slaughtered. He never had to wait long, a few weeks at most. The city was crawling with degenerates that would steal, pillage, rape and murder to get their ill-gotten gains. For as enjoyable as Frank found killing, he took pride in only murdering those that had it coming to them, and there was certainly no shortage of those people in this town.  
Frank did relish these quite nights at home though, those nights where he didn’t have to worry about countless amounts of research – where his victim would be and when; that sort of thing. Frank was mindlessly staring at the screen in front of him, some time around 8 p.m. and he was dozing off already. It was nice, he thought, maybe he would get some extra slee…  
Nevertheless, there was a hammering from the hall of his apartment, snapping Frank from his comfortable thought.  
He ignored it, shutting his eyes and readjusting so that he was comfortable on the couch, head lying on the arm rest and eyebrows furrowed with annoyance, when he heard it again – this time followed by a high pitched giggle and someone shouting.  
He huffed out an exasperated sigh and turned up the volume on the television. There was shuffling out front still, the sound of unfamiliar heavy footsteps in the usually quiet hallway. Frank was surrounded by two unoccupied apartments, and one diagonal to him that housed an elderly lady that left only for church on Sunday’s and the occasional doctor’s appointment.  
He narrowed his eyes and tentatively lifted himself off the couch, heading for the door. The footsteps were still plowing heavily up and down the stairs, in and out of doors. He tiptoed up to the peephole, but saw nothing. He pulled the door open and stepped out, eyes scanning from left to right only to find an empty hallway above and empty set of stairs. Just as he went to walk back inside and shut the door, he heard stomping making its way back up the stairwell.  
Frank waited at his door, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, for whomever these people were that thought it acceptable to pound the ground into a pulp as they invaded the building. Two figures, both upper bodies obscured by brown boxes appeared at the top of the stairs, neither noticing Frank as they passed by. One thin and tall with heavy footsteps, the other marginally shorter with a bent gait. Frank waited, watching them angrily as they opened the door to the apartment next door, walking in with the boxes and allowing it to slam shut behind them.  
A moment later, they re-appeared, panting and empty handed. The taller one made awkward eye contact with Frank who was visibly searing at this point.  
  
“Shit, I’m so sorry. They told us that it was mostly vacant up here. We uh, dropped the couch earlier.” The shorter one said, grinning slightly, smile off center. The taller of the two shrugged and leapt back down the stairs, feet dragging, Frank assumed to get more boxes. Great, new neighbors. New loud neighbors, he thought.  
  
“Well it’s not, I fucking live here. And Mrs. Howry lives over there.” Frank pointed to the cream door diagonal from his, his tattooed fingers making sharp motion. “And she’s like a-fucking-thousand, so maybe tone it down a notch.” Frank spat heatedly.  
  
The man shifted uncomfortably on his feet, sweaty black locks of hair falling into his face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. Moving and all.” The man made a pained sound, something like uneasiness in his stance. “I’m Gerard.” He stuck his hand out, expecting Frank to shake it, but he ignored him.  
  
“Whatever. Just be fucking quiet, Gerald.” Frank replied as he turned away from the man and slammed the door behind him.

To Frank’s displeasure, Gerard and his friend the incredible hulk did not, in fact, shut the fuck up. He had heard banging and yelling from the apartment next door for two full days after his initial encounter with the men. At one point he tried listening in, holding a glass up to his living room wall, ear pressed up against it, but he couldn’t make out anything they were saying. He was currently too involved into an internet search on a known man that was scowling the city and assaulting women that were walking alone at night. He had assaulted three women in the same eight-mile radius just this past week, and the police were doing just a spectacularly poor job of tracking him down. And of course, that’s where Frank comes in.  
He had been evading police for days now, slipping right through the cracks when they got near. All but one victim had personally identified him as the suspect, and there was no doubt in Frank’s mind that if this was the guy, he would track him down – and he would kill him.  
Frank was about seven months deep into this guys Instagram, having spent about two hours digging into his Facebook. You could tell a lot about someone just from his or her pictures. For instance, this guy – Jesse – followed half a dozen pages dedicated to posting pictures of unaware women, all with sickeningly detailed comments from strangers about what they fantasized doing to them. Oblivious women, just going about their day – working, sitting on the bus, grocery shopping, at a playground with their kids…  
Frank shut his laptop, disgusted. He had all the information he needed. Where Jesse worked, his home address, his phone number, even the family members he was closest to. Social media had really made his job easier. It would still be a few days before Frank went in for the kill, however. He always needed to prepare himself, mentally as well as physically.  
It seems Frank had the afternoon to himself, a rarity he realized. He pondered what to do with himself, pacing the carpeted floor of his living room a few times before grabbing his keys and heading for the door. Maybe he would just drive around a bit and enjoy the day, maybe head to the bookstore and grab a coffee and a new… His thoughts were cut off, again, as he ran face first into his new neighbor at the top of the stairs. The bags he was carrying flying out of his grip and falling all over the landing.  
  
“What the fuck.” Frank gritted automatically.  
  
“Shit I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Gerard replied, picking up the discarded grocery bag from the ground.  
  
Frank grumbled and bent down to help him re-pack the items. “Yeah....” He said when he realized that the cans of tomato sauce were starting to roll towards the stairs. He didn’t know why he even bothered, his inner thoughts said fleetingly, as he started piling cans of vegetables, sauce and spaghetti-o’s in his arms. Frank was not a generous person. He figured that all of his liberality and any social manners he should have had went into the public service of murder. That left little to no room for Frank to be pleasant with anyone, not to mention offering his assistance or for idle conversation.  
  
Frank allowed Gerard to lead him into the adjacent apartment. It was fairly bare, though not so much as Frank’s – it did look like someone did most of their living in there. There were still boxes littering the floor, lining the wall and scattered on counters. Two movie posters hung by thumbtacks haphazardly on the wall behind the couch.  
  
“Thank you so much.” Gerard commented, taking the extra cans out of Frank’s hands. “Listen, I’m really sorry for the other day. My brother and I had to move everything in by ourselves, we’re both pretty clumsy.” He chuckled lightly.  
  
“It’s fine. I was just tired.” Frank said, attempting to shrug it off without looking uncomfortable.  
  
“Awesome. So…” Gerard started, and Frank knew he was about to try to make useless chitchat with him. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, the floor creaking slightly below him, and shoved his hands in his jean pockets – some sense of grounding, security in the unfamiliar apartment. 

“So, how long have you been living here?” Gerard asked, moving a few boxes off the couch, Frank assumed to make room for him to sit. He remained standing awkwardly despite this.  
  
“A while.” He said simply with a shrug.  
  
“Oh.” Gerard replied. “Well, do you like it? You must like it if you’ve been here a while.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Gerard seemed to get the hint; Frank wasn’t one for sharing, or interested in talking at all really. “Well, thanks again.” He said with a sigh.  
  
“Sure thing, Gerald.” Frank replied, hiding a slight smirk as he turned his back to him and headed for the door. “I’ll see you around, Gerald.”  
  
“It’s Gerard!” He called after Frank as he shut the door behind him, but Frank knew that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact!
> 
> The name Jesse comes from the guy at work who, a few years ago, continued harassing me despite me saying I wasn't interested! The kicker - I carpooled with two managers and the HR admin for the floor, and I told them on the drive home one day - finally able to get it out. The HR admin said he was 'gross' and no one did anything about it after that even after I reported him. He got fired after TWO YEARS for something unrelated. :):):):):):)
> 
> That fact wasn't actually that fun.

Frank’s mother told him early on _’Never play with your food, Frank, it is rude.’_ As a child, she scolded him at the dinner table often, as he was picking up his peas, his green beans, his mashed potatoes…and squashed them between his thumb and forefinger. He hated her cooking, but he liked the way it felt between his fingers while being smashed into a paste. He eventually grew out of that phase, but his mother had still eyed him suspiciously for years when they ate together, ostensibly expecting a teenage Frank to pick up his vegetables and smash them in his palm. He knew his mother told him never to play with his food, but sometimes it was just too much fun to pass up.  
There was really no doubt now, this was his guy – and Frank had even caught him in the act. Frank was behind a brick wall now, somewhere about 20 miles south of Belleville, on a college campus that he wasn’t familiar with. Frank had been following him, tracking him for days. He knew Jesse wouldn’t last long, even with the cops on his trail. He would have to strike again. That’s what _his_ kind did.  
And dumb does as dumb is, and here he was, at 10:07PM on a Friday night, when most students were either out or preoccupied, creeping around the freshman dorm of the University. It didn’t take him long, about 15 minutes or so to start following a young girl, what most would consider attractive. Petite, blonde. Not Frank’s type. Frank watched from behind the wall as Jesse trailed her from a few feet behind, being careful not to make much sound as his footsteps hit the ground. Her headphones were doing a spectacular job of keeping her oblivious.  
Just as Jesse pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and dripped a clear liquid onto it, Frank darted out behind him. He grasped for the girls neck, ready to place the cloth over her mouth, but the blunt head of a bat on his skull cut his movement short.  
The girl carried on, ignorant to her potential attacker knocked unconscious and bleeding behind her, her savior dragging him off into the grass. He wasn’t dead yet, Frank knew that, and he savored it. He needed to get him to a quieter area, somewhere safe and secluded. He had scoped out an underground parking structure a few days earlier. The lowest level seemed to be rarely used and dimly lit, no security cameras in sight.  
  
Jesse was much lighter than Frank’s last target was, he assumed he was overcompensating for something by attacking innocent women. It was easy to drag his limp body down into the structure, laying him flatly on the concrete. It took Frank a few minutes to tie his ankles together with zip ties. His arms knotted stiffly to his body with rope, wrists gathered tightly against his hips with only his hands free at either side. The heel of Frank’s boot met Jesse’s cheek, hard enough to make him sputter awake, but light enough to keep him from going into a deeper unconsciousness.  
“What the fuck…” He uttered out, blood dripping down his forehead as he attempted to sit up. Jesse spat the drips of blood that had begun to settle on his lips on to his shirt. Frank easily forced him back into a laying position with a boot on his chest.  
  
“Nuh-uh.” Frank commanded with a shake of his head. He tsk’d at him, seemingly considering something. Jesse just lie there, confused and bleeding as Frank carefully pulled out a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on in silence.  
  
“Let me go, please…” He slurred. He was terrified, Frank was sure. Even the sleaziest of criminals were crying in the end, begging for their lives. It wasn’t true remorse though, no, Frank knew that. They just wanted to be spared, to live another day. Frank wouldn’t grant them that.  
  
“Shhh.” Frank cooed. “Quiet now.” His voice was almost calming, sweet. He knelt down next to Jesse who was trembling now, in a half lying, half sitting position that Frank assumed was absolute misery on his muscles. He didn’t know true misery though, not yet.  
  
“Please…” Jesse begged softly “I’ll do anything…I…I can give you money.” Frank only shook his head and reached into his blue pants pocket. He pulled out a small folding knife, about five inches long and sharp.  
  
“Do you know why you’re here Jesse?” Frank asked calmly after a moment of silence.  
  
He shook his head fervently. “How do you know my name?”  
  
“That wasn’t the question, Jesse. Do. You. Know. Why. You’re. Here?” Frank said each word with a pointed pause, ensuring there was no misunderstanding Frank’s severity.  
  
Jesse shook his head again, tears streaming down his face. Frank sighed and sat a bit more comfortably, cross-legged at Jesse’s side. “Well. Allow me to elaborate. Do you remember Laura?”  
  
Again, Jesse shook his head, fear showing in his muddy brown eyes.  
  
“How about Michelle? Marianne? Tina?” Frank continued.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The man shrieked and Frank made an indistinguishable face. He was angry, that was much too loud and though Frank wanted to ask him farther questions, he would have to gag him now and move on.  
  
“Don’t worry; I’ll explain it all to you very soon.” Frank commented as he shoved the same chemical ridden rag that was initially meant for an innocent student into Jesse’s mouth. He tied rope around his head, ensuring it stayed firmly in place inside of his mouth, between his yellow teeth.  
  
“You went after Laura first.” Frank said as he took position next to Jesse, this time taking a hold of his left hand. Jesse screeched in protest, sound muffled by the rag, when Frank placed the edge of the knife on the pad of his pinky finger. “She was only 17 you know, still in high school.” Frank began to press the blade into his skin, just under the tip of his dirty fingernail, crimson red drips pooling at the vane of the knife slowly.  
  
“You followed her to school and grabbed her about a block away. You groped her, touched her in ways she didn’t want to be touched. You _violated_ her.” Frank continued, the knife slicing deeper into his skin, down into his fingerprints, past his nailbed and towards his open, pulsating palm. Jesse tried to scream, but it came out only as a muffled yelp.  
  
“You grabbed Marianne on a hiking trail not far from where you attacked Laura. You waited until she was in a secluded area of the forest, coming up behind her and grabbed her neck. You strangled her nearly to death. While she was passed out you stripped her and defiled her.” Frank grunted as the blade cut through Jesse’s skin, slicing the tip of his pinky off completely. Jesse wailed in pain.  
  
“Next was Tina, you followed her when she was walking home from work late at night. She had been working a double shift, just trying to provide for her family. She fought you with everything she had, even though she was so _exhausted_. She screamed but you gagged her, you ripped her clothes off and touched her. You left her with a bloodied lip and a black eye.” Frank moved on to his ring finger, slicing the pad off in one quick motion this time, letting anger and hatred fill his veins and fuel his movements.  
  
Jesse continued to whine and moan, writhing on the ground, tears flowing freely from his eyes as Frank moved from finger to finger, telling story after story of his heinous crimes. How Jesse had attacked and molested each woman, a sliced finger for each. It took a while, longer than usual for Frank’s killings, but after about an hour Jesse’s fingertips were destroyed. Frank placed the edge of the knife on Jesse’s throat now, digging in just slightly.  
  
“Jesse, you should know better than to touch what doesn’t belong to you.” He commented with a frown of disappointment. Jesse nodded in agreement, mumbling a prayer in his last moments. Frank waited for a moment, waited until he heard Jesse mumble the words “Please, God…” He was sure Jesse would say anything to save his life.  
  
“I _am_ your God.” Frank sneered in response, voice dripping with disgust, next to Jesse’s ear.  
  
Frank sliced into his neck with one quick motion. Jesse gurgled and choked momentarily, but in the end it took only a second for him to stop struggling. Frank let out a sigh he hadn’t been aware he was holding in. He had a mess to clean now, fingerprints of his own to wipe, footprints to erase. He really should be less messy when killing, but he couldn’t help it. Frank had always liked to play with his food.

It was well into the middle of the night, and all Frank could think about was his bed as he trudged up the stairs. He wasn’t covered in a overwhelming amount of blood, surprisingly, just a few splotches on his hands and the areas of skin not covered by black fabric. It had taken a good hour to ensure that the area was clear of any trace of Frank; when the cops showed up, he was confident that it would look as if Jesse’s fingers had sliced themselves off.  
He had at least pre-planned for this to be on a Friday, and he had the weekend to recuperate. His fingers ached from clutching the knife, his legs burned from dragging the body into the parking structure, and his toes rubbed irritably against the rock in the toe of his boots. With every step he took up the stairs to his apartment, Frank became more and more exhausted. It was easy to forget; as he approached the third floor that his state probably didn’t look very innocent. The floor was empty, Frank was sure of it. It had been for the past two years, aside from Mrs. Howry. But she was nearly blind and mostly deaf, so it wasn’t a concern.  
Yes, he trudged up the stairs, and yes he complained audibly as he fumbled for and promptly dropped his keys, but he didn’t anticipate the apartment door next to his to creak open in question, a mop of messy black hair poking out and searching in his direction.  
  
“Frank?”  
  
Frank was bending down, one hand reaching for his keys on the floor, the just beginning to reach into his pocket for the knife he was carrying when Gerard spotted him. He gripped the knife in his right hand, ready to open it at any moment if necessary, and stood up straight quickly, almost falling over from exhaustion and the head rush.  
  
“Are you alright?” Gerard asked concernedly, stepping through the doorway. He looked tired, like he had just woken up. His hair was in sleep worn chaos, Star Wars pajama pants almost laughable, though Frank was far too concerned with the blood on his clothes and knife in his hand to make light of the situation.  
  
“Fine. Yeah, fine.” He uttered quickly, holding the knife close to his side, praying silently that Gerard would go back inside and forget about the whole interaction.  
  
Gerard stepped closer and plucked Frank’s discarded keys off of the floor, reaching an arm out for Frank to take them. Frank just rather stood there, unsure what to do with himself until Gerard made a face at him.  
  
He stuck out his left hand and snatched the keys quickly, but Gerard didn’t turn and walk away as expected. So, Frank did what he wanted to in the first place, and unlocked the door.  
  
“Thanks.” He muttered, cracking the door open just wide enough for him to slide into.  
  
“Hey, wait. Frank…” Gerard probed, placing his hand on the doorframe of Frank’s apartment. “You don’t look so good. Are you OK?”  
  
Frank grumbled lowly in the threshold, the half shut door revealing only part of his face. “Just, uh. Long story.” He answered and placed his hand on the doorknob, silently trying to relay to Gerard that it was time to go home. Maybe he was thick headed, or maybe he was just nosey, Frank didn’t care. Nevertheless, he did need this to be over, and soon.  
  
Gerard shifted on his feet, hand falling away from the doorframe when his eye caught sight of Frank’s hand on the bronze doorknob, specks of blood on the outer side of his palm; dirt under his fingernails and a bruise peeking out from the hem of his sleeve.  
  
“…blood.” Gerard mumbled quietly and pointed to Frank’s hand.  
  
Frank ripped it away quickly, wiping it on his pants, though it did little good at cleaning off the dried gore.  
  
“Look, Gerard.” Frank sighed in frustration. “I’m fucking exhausted. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”  
  
“Were you, um, attacked or something? Do you need help?” Gerard questioned with a cringe, though his face betrayed him. Even Frank could tell that Gerard didn’t buy that, and Frank shook his head no.  
  
Gerard nodded silently, his face unbelievably paler than it was when he first came out of his apartment. He turned and walked into the door next to Frank’s, waving a nervous hand in goodbye as he shut it. Frank heard the lock click tight behind him.

Frank hadn’t exactly considered the implications of Gerard’s little encounter the night before until he woke up in a cold sweat the next morning. Next afternoon, rather.  
He sat in his living room, in silence, his hand lightly bandaged from the bruising. His mind was blank, mostly. One of the benefits of being a serial killer is learning how to turn your mind into an unmitigated space of nothingness. Still, though, the thought of his nosey neighbor having any type of curiosities when it came to Frank’s hobby was creeping into his head like a black hole, sucking up every ounce of self-control that Frank had. In the end, he lost that control and found himself knocking on Gerard’s door, his fist driving nervously into the cheap plywood.  
  
“Fucking hold on!” He heard Gerard shriek back, the sound of shuffling and the TV being muted inside the apartment. “Jesus Christ.” Gerard mumbled as he unlocked and opened the door slowly.  
  
Frank pushed through it without a second thought. “We need to talk.”  
  
Gerard folded his arms in faked nonchalance, nervousness showing in his glassy hazel eyes. “About?” Gerard questioned, still standing in the doorway dumfounded.  
  
“Shut the door.” Frank demanded, and with hesitation, Gerard complied.  
  
“Last night. When you saw me.” Frank clarified. He was still standing awkwardly in front of the couch, much like he had been the first time he was in Gerard’s apartment.  
  
“I was half asleep Frank; I barely remember talking to you.” Gerard shrugged it off with a laugh and picked up a half empty beer off of the coffee table, holding it in between his hands to still himself. He was lying, Frank could tell and his blood was going to rise from the pit of his stomach and boil in his face if Gerard’ didn’t cut the shit right fucking now. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  
  
“Don’t bullshit me, Gerard, I know you remember.” Frank scoffed, walking closer to Gerard. Close enough that Frank almost needed to look up at Gerard to see eye to eye with him, but Frank knew how to keep control. Frank was always in control. “I was in a bar fight.”  
  
Gerard shook his head, and surprisingly calmly, locked eyes with Frank. “What do you want me to say Frank?” Gerard narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, closing in on the distance between them, trembling slightly. “Do you think I’m scared of you, Frank?” Gerard cornered Frank against the doorframe, the taller man now looking down at Frank.  
  
Frank reached into his pocket quietly, gripping the knife he always carried in his pocket, ready to pull it out should Gerard make another move. “Back the fuck up, Gerard. I told you. I was in a bar fight. Why would I lie?”  
  
Gerard shrugged and inched away slightly, giving Frank enough room to huff out a sigh of petulance. “I don't fucking know, Frank!" Gerard yelled, eyes narrowed and locked on Frank’s angry face. He leaned in, expression deadly serious, and sighed. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”  
  
Frank stared at Gerard, red faced and flustered. Without another word, he opened Gerard’s door and rushed through it, slamming it behind him; his own door slamming momentarily after, as well.


	3. Chapter 3

Frank was marching an oval shaped hole into the carpet of his living room, short stridden footsteps leaving a track behind him. He hadn’t felt this anxious in years, not since he first killed someone. He recalled the day – night, actually. It had been an accident, honestly. He only wanted to teach the guy a lesson, make him scared... But when Frank got there, and he saw her face…bloodied and full of tears, Frank just lost it. He couldn’t stand it anymore…the nonstop hysterical phone calls from her almost every night for weeks, then, minutes after the line went dead, another phone call – _him_ telling Frank that if he came anywhere near the apartment he would kill him _and_ her.  
Curtis had been fine at first. More than fine, actually…taking her on fancy dinners, exotic vacations, secret weekend getaways. Frank hardly saw her when she first met him, and that had been OK, as long as he knew she was happy. He only began to grow concerned when she stopped answering his phone calls and texts, and started making up excuses for why they couldn’t get together. Eventually he caught wind of just how bad the situation was through a mutual friend. 

‘What happened to Lil?’ He was questioned in text one night, as if Frank would have the answer when he hadn’t seen her in nearly three months.  
  
‘What do you mean?’ He asked back immediately.  
  
‘Look.’ They said and sent a picture a moment later. A zoomed in shot of Lillian, his best friend since 8th grade, smiling uncomfortably for a picture, the unmistakable purple-blue shadow of a large bruise on her left cheek, her face turned – trying to hide it. It was patchy, cakey, as if she had tried to cover it with makeup, but had been unsuccessful. ‘She was tagged in this pic. What’s up w her face?’  
  
Frank took a moment to respond, zooming in and out on the picture repeatedly, trying to analyze the injury as if he tried hard enough he could close his eyes and just _see_ the damage happen. He called Lillian that night, almost surprised when she picked up.  
_It was nothing. It was an accident. Don’t worry about me, Frank._ She had said over and over again like a prayer. But, things only got worse over the next few months.  
Lillian became Curtis’ personal punching bag, and once Frank knew the truth, Curtis used Frank as a pawn in his mind games. He promised Lillian that if she told anyone, he would kill Frank. That kept her in line and, afraid of being the cause of her best friends’ murder, her head down and her mouth shut. After months of more sleepless nights than rested, Frank had finally had enough. Lillian had called him desperate again one night because Curtis had kicked her in the ribs so hard she swore she felt her lung collapse in her chest. Frank begged Lillian to run, to come to his place. He said he would come get her, that he would even call the police and have them come with him to get her, but she refused, afraid of Curtis’ repercussions.  
He was so _fucking frustrated_ that he couldn’t do anything about it, so scared for Lillian, that he just snapped. Without further thought, Frank grabbed his car keys and drove the sixteen-mile distance to her apartment in record time. He had no weapons on him…only his still scrawny, twenty one year old body to defend himself and Lillian. He was no match for the older, burlier man, but Frank’s mind had been made up. He pounded on the rusty blue door until Curtis opened it with a glower. Frank didn’t even speak, just went straight for the jaw, splitting Curtis’ lip and breaking two of his own fingers in the process.  
Lillian screamed when she saw Frank charge his way in and shouted at her to stay back. Curtis threw Frank to the ground with ease then, thick hands gripping his inked throat tightly, intending to skip simple assault and battery and go right for first-degree murder. Frank felt his airway crushing under Curtis’ weight rapidly, a sound resembling seas crashing in his ears as the blood in his brain decelerated. ‘Go ahead _faggot_ …try to turn me in, but she will always come running back to me…because she knows where she belongs.’ Curtis spat with venom over Frank’s choking form. Just before Frank fell into full unconsciousness, Curtis was dropping – falling on top of Frank with his full cataleptic weight, Lillian having knocked him out cold with a blow to the back of his bald head.  
She dropped the brass lamp she was clutching on to the ground, pushing Curtis’ off Frank and grabbing his hand. ‘We have to leave.’ She pleaded, but Frank ripped his hand from hers. He knelt over Curtis’ stout body and couldn’t help himself…he hit him again, feeling his already damaged fingers shatter farther with the force. He kept swinging, with both hands now, more and more…until Curtis’ face was nearly unrecognizable, and the slow rise and fall of his abdomen had stopped.  
Lillian just sat there and wept, a pile on the floor next to them. Frank crawled off of Curtis after a few minutes of catching his breath and watching the blood pool from Curtis’ mouth and nose. That’s when the panic began to set in. ‘What are we going to do!’ Lillian all but screamed, and he shushed her, trying to create a rational thought in the middle of this nightmare. ‘You killed him, Frank…Oh my God he’s dead…’ She sobbed.  
He sat cross-legged in the corner for a few minutes, gripping at his neck and pulling at his hair. ‘You have to hit me.’ Frank whispered to her eventually, after gathering his thoughts. She was taken aback, tears still overflowing in her eyes. She wouldn’t agree to it at first, but Frank begged her ‘You have to.’ He demanded. ‘He didn’t even hit me…I’ll…I’ll go away for murder if it doesn’t look like it was self-defense.’  
She shook her head ‘no’ even as she picked up the brass lamp again, mind protesting what her body _knew_ she had to do. ‘Not too hard, but enough to make it look like there was a struggle, OK? Do you understand me?’ Frank explained shakily, putting his hands on her quivering shoulders. ‘Tell me you understand, Lil.” She just swallowed and nodded. Frank shut his eyes tight and waited for the blow.  
The next thing Frank knew a cold washcloth was being placed on his forehead waking him; Lillian trying to get him to come around. There was a small pool of blood on the carpet around him, in his mouth, on his shirt, in his eyes…  
The hours, days and months after that night were a blur. Frank being taken to the hospital, the seventeen stitches on the top of his head, Lillian taking up residence at a women’s shelter, the police questioning him – Frank lying about what actually happened. One month and nine days later, it was determined to be self-defense, and Frank was able to breathe freely again. Curtis had previous run-ins with the law, making Frank’s story seem feasible, and apparently, that was enough for the Hoboken area law enforcement to close the case.  
Frank had gotten lucky, but he never forgot what Curtis had said to him as the life was being rung out of him, and for some reason, Frank was never really able to let go of that _snap_. The snap that caused him to attack Curtis in the first place felt like it was now a part of his permanent psyche. He felt rage at everything and everyone, disgusted with Curtis still. Disgusted with himself.  
Frank moved away two months later, an hour from his hometown and from Lillian. They both needed a fresh start, and they only reminded each other of that dreadful night. Frank had not only killed Curtis, but his and Lillian’s friendship, too. They had tried, but couldn’t look each other in the eye anymore. Each time they did, the events would replay, the horror that Frank saw in her eyes changed him. He had tried to save her, and in some ways, he did, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had bestowed upon her a trauma far greater than any peace he had given her.

Frank set a place at his computer, fingers tapping away on the keyboard. His leg was shaking, bouncing with the anxieties he felt in his chest. _Gerard…_ Frank paused. ‘Fuck, I don’t even know his last name’ he grumbled to himself. He must have been scowling for hours, because it was now well past dusk and Frank was none the wiser to how much time had passed, or who Gerard was. A quick glance at the clock told him it was nearly one in the morning.  
Frank pressed his ear tentatively up against the thin apartment wall. No noise from next door, and he hadn’t heard him leave. A few materials were all he needed, a pair of gloves, a credit card and a pin to pick the lock. His knife, of course. The hallway was quiet, as usual, but eerily so tonight. Ever so lightly, Frank went to work on the lock. These apartments were old, cheap – It wouldn’t take much.  
He stuck the pin into the doorknob gently, careful to be as quiet as possible, digging into the lock while subsequently sliding in the thin plastic card to unclasp the bolt. It unlocked with a pop, allowing Frank to swing the door open, only a light squeaking sound from the rusty doorjamb. A whiff of fresh paint wafted in Frank’s direction as he stepped through the threshold.  
The apartment was dark, and Frank crept into the living room, keeping careful not to bump into the plethora of boxes that were still littering the place. The wallet discarded on the coffee table was Frank’s first instinct, grabbing it with gloved fingers, undoing the snap quietly and rustling through the plastic cards for anything worthwhile. Credit cards, driver’s license, eight dollars in cash. ‘Gerard A Way’ the license read, a picture of his neighbor’s shy grin next to the name. He shut the wallet, placing it back on the table carefully making note of the name.  
The filing cabinet next to a large bookshelf was next on Frank’s list to investigate, the top two drawers locked. The bottom drawer, the only open one, was filled with papers, art mostly; Frank couldn’t make out what of exactly in the darkness. Papers, papers, papers Frank fingered through. Lost in his work, Frank became more and more exasperated as he found nothing. Nothing incriminating, nothing interesting. Nothing even worth a second look. Filled with frustration, Frank shut the drawer and bit his lip, holding back the groan of uncertainty he held in his throat.  
'Fuck. ’ Frank whispered into the silence. He was answered with the cold barrel of a gun to the back of his neck, metal digging into the dip below his cranium and above his shoulders that made the hair on his arms stand up. He hadn’t even heard Gerard come up behind him.  
  
“Stand.” The voice spat furiously. Frank stood slowly, his back turned to the voice whose hand never wavered in pressing the barrel against the base of Frank’s skull.  
  
“Turn around and face me. I want to see your hands. You fucking try anything and I’ll blow your brains out, got it?” He ordered into Frank’s ear. Frank took a moment to gather himself and put his hands up in surrender, turning to face Gerard with a stoic look on his face. Frank had seen enough people beg for mercy in his time that, though he had no intentions of dying tonight, should Gerard decide to cock the gun and end Frank’s life here and now, he would be damned if he would start to grovel.  
  
Gerard slid the gun off of Frank’s spine, resting just under Frank’s chin as he turned to face him, his index finger lightly on the trigger; safety off. “Frank?” Gerard questioned. It was hard to see his eyes in the dark, but from what Frank could make out they were placed directly on his own. His black pupils blown and searching. Frank felt the gun falter for a moment, Gerard trying to keep it raised while making sense of the situation. Frank remained expressionless, though his ruse was faltering. He swallowed hard, the shaft of the gun bobbing with the motion.  
  
“Put the gun down, Gerard.” And he seemed to consider it for a moment, clearing his throat and shifting on his feet.  
  
“Empty your pockets first.” Gerard retorted, eyes sinking to Frank’s hands. Frank did as told and pulled the contents of his pockets out, discarding them on the floor. The pocketknife, the pin, the credit card, spare gloves.  
  
“Happy?” Frank replied, turning his pockets inside out to reveal the white fabric liner.  
  
Gerard shook his head. “What did you take?” He probed, gun still held in the air, though not pressed so tightly against Frank’s skin any longer.  
  
“Nothing, Gerard, I swear.” Frank replied almost instantly and honestly, his head shaking from side to side, copying Gerard’s motions. “I didn’t take anything.”  
  
Gerard let that linger for a moment, swallowing again, nervous. “Then why are you here?”  
  
“I…” Frank didn’t know how to answer that, stumbling over his excuse. Gerard’s arm was beginning to tire, muscles protesting, Frank could see it in the way the gun was now wavering in the musty apartment air. “I’m sorry” is all Frank was able to stammer as an explanation. Gerard lowered the gun then, keeping his finger on the trigger, but holding it near his side now.  
  
Gerard turned from Frank and he heard the barrel cock open, chamber spin, and then the gun drop on to the coffee table with a thud. He sauntered resignedly over to the floor lamp in the corner and turned the knob, bright light now making Frank squint. “Sit.” Gerard said, but it came out less of a threat, and more of a defeated acceptance. Frank took the few short footsteps towards the couch and sat, uneasily across from the gun as Gerard took a place in the lounge chair opposite him. Frank eyed the gun suspiciously now, able to fully open his eyes once adjusted to the light. The chamber was empty – Gerard had never loaded it.  
  
“The gu…” Frank started, ready to question Gerard, but he shushed him with a finger in the air, other hand rubbing at his sweaty forehead. He bent forward, head in his hands for a moment, rocking back and forth, and fingers pinching tightly at the brim of his nose. Frank just watched him uncomfortably. “Ger…”  
  
“Shut the _Fuck. Up._ Frank.” Gerard growled before he was able to get the words out. “I can’t…I can’t fucking deal with this right now.” Gerard said finally, sitting up slightly more square with Frank. “Were you trying to rob me?”  
  
Frank shook his head rapidly. “No. No, absolutely not.” Gerard waved his hands in front of himself, palms up, silently requesting frank to elaborate. “I just…I was…” Frank sighed, “I don’t really trust people, and I just…you know...” Frank stumbled.  
  
Gerard made an indiscriminant face then, sitting a bit farther back in his chair. “Well, I can appreciate that more than you robbing me.”  
  
Frank shrugged; eyes scanning Gerard’s bent form, his pale sweaty skin lit up by the yellow lamp. It was silent for a while, Gerard just staring off into space, Frank looking around the apartment inquisitively. “Why do you have a gun?” Frank’s mouth questioned before his brain was able to stop himself.  
  
“I guess for when some fucking asshole breaks into my apartment.” Gerard said, and Frank snorted. Gerard didn’t laugh, though. It sounded like a joke to Frank anyway.  
  
Another awkward moment passed by, and Frank couldn’t stand the tension anymore. “I’m really sorry…I should leave.” Frank sighed, and stood quickly from his seat. Before Gerard could answer, or continue to question him, Frank was opening the apartment door and walking through it, shutting it with a soft, regretful click.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days were, to put it mildly, unbelievably awkward. Frank would bump into Gerard regularly in the hallways on his way to and from work or to the store, exchanging uncomfortable glances as they fumbled for their keys, towards the stairs, and out of the building. Assumedly, they were both waiting for the other to bring up the obvious. Frank being far too proud, maybe a bit guilty and perhaps even a little embarrassed (though he would never admit it) about their last interaction to say anything.  
Frank had ran the name ‘Gerard A. Way’ through every database he knew, every social media, every cheap background check app, and nothing strange or unusual came up. His activity was completely benign, save for his social media presence being somewhat slim. Frank had found his Facebook, and his twitter, but neither had been active in what looked like a few years. Eventually, Frank gave up and accepted that he had been maybe a bit too hasty, and definitely reckless, when deciding to break into Gerard’s apartment.   
An unexpected source forced them to interact again, about a week later, another late Friday night, when Frank caught a glimpse of red and blue flashing beams through the blinds covering his living room window. Instantaneously, he thrashed into panic-mode. He turned off every light in his apartment; triple locked the door and prepared himself to hurdle through the bedroom window and down the fire escape if necessary.  
He placed himself quietly next to the front door, ear directly on the frame, shoulders heaving with each uncertain breath. Weighty footsteps made their way hastily up the stairs as Frank got himself into position to bolt. He listened to the sound of the police scanner attached to the figure, watched the shadow of someone walking by his door pass under the frame. Frank thought he was going to throw up.  
Suddenly, someone’s fist was pounding on a door, Gerard’s or Mrs. Howry’s, but distinctively _not_ Frank’s. He stood up carefully after a few deep breaths and peered through the peephole to see a tall man dressed in navy blue, a cop for certain, banging on Mrs. Howry’s discolored white door. The man continued this for some time before muttering something into his walkie-talkie, and a few moments later, another navy-clad officer appeared at the top of the stairwell with a crowbar.  
Frank watched with curiosity now more than fear, as both officers took hold of the door and attempted to pry it open. At this point, Frank began to quietly unlock his door, opening it to reveal a sleepy Gerard poking his head out of the apartment next door, as well.  
  
“What’s going on?” He whispered to Frank and he just shrugged, unsure himself, before tip-toeing into the hallway and watching the scene unfold before him. With a loud crack, the door adjacent to him swung open and both officers made their way into the dark apartment, flashlights drawn. It was silent as Frank and Gerard waited in the hall, no noise coming from Mrs. Howry’s, or from outside. One of the officers appeared in the doorway again, clicking off his flashlight and muttering something indistinguishable into his shirt, now covering the lower portion of his face.  
  
“What’s happening?” Gerard questioned the officer, but Frank already knew. There was an odor starting to waft out into the hallway now, making Frank cringe and cover his nose with his sweater, the recognition of decay flooding his nostrils.  
  
“We got a wellness call; apparently she hadn’t been seen in a week or two.” The officer mumbled through the fabric. As the officers disappeared back down the stairs quickly, shutting the door behind them, Frank turned to Gerard with realization.  
  
“I don’t remember seeing her last Sunday.” He sighed. “I always see her coming back from church on Sunday.” Gerard stood there uncomfortably, hand covering his mouth and nose, and placed a tentative grip on Frank’s shoulder. “Fuck, I wonder how long she’s been dead for.” Gerard shot him a sympathetic expression then and motioned for Frank to come in the apartment, Frank complying easily, too dismayed to protest.  
  
“Coffee?” Gerard asked as Frank took a seat on the sofa, the same spot that he had sat in under far different circumstances a week ago, pushing papers and comics out of the way to create space. “Yeah, sure.” He sighed. Gerard poured two cups and carried them over, cream and sugar under his arm, and Frank shook his head when he offered them. “Black is fine, thanks.”  
  
The air was dense with harsh banging in the hallway, and both men’s slow sips of hot coffee. “Well I guess it’s just you and me on the floor for a while.” Gerard said into the stillness eventually.  
  
Frank made a humming noise, thoughtful. “Guess so.”  
  
“So, uh…” Gerard tried to break the tension as best he knew how. “How, uh, has your week been?”  
  
“It was okay.” Frank shifted his eyes from the floor to the coffee table, too slighted to look Gerard in the eyes, though he hoped it was clear that he was trying. “You?” Frank heard the sound of footsteps as the ambulance arrived outside; EMT’s making their way up the stairs. Blue and red lights shone in through Gerard’s apartment window just as clearly as Frank’s.  
  
“Fine, thank you.” Gerard nodded, and let them fall into silence again. “I’m not mad, you know.” He said after a couple of minutes, and Frank chanced a glance at his face. Gerard’s words seemed genuine, and the look on his face was sympathetic. He had not called the police or pressed charges on Frank for breaking and entering, and so Frank grinned at him appreciatively.  
  
“You probably should be.” Frank replied with a groan, setting his now empty cup on the table.  
  
Gerard snorted and shook his head. “I was at first.” He switched hands he was holding his own cup in, picking at the faded print on the front. “But my therapist says I need to start letting things go.”  
  
“Oh. That’s…good.” Frank cleared his throat, setting his elbows on his knees and pulling at his fingers. “Thank you.”  
  
“For what?” Gerard questioned.  
  
Frank shrugged, unsure himself. “Not being mad, I guess.”  
  
“Gerard seemed to consider that for a moment, nodding slightly. “I mean, it would help if you told me why, though.”  
  
Frank swallowed hard, still cracking and fiddling his fingers in his lap. “ _Why?_ ”  
  
Gerard didn’t hesitate, responding plainly. “Yes. Why you broke in in the first place – what did I do to make you feel like you needed to resort to that? I’d like to know.”  
  
“I told you. I don’t trust people.” Frank started, taking a long pause between breaths. “Needed to find out who you were.” The flashing lights outside were fading into the distance now.  
  
“You could have asked.” Gerard retorted with an unamused laugh. Frank didn’t respond, just held his hands tight in his lap, head down. “This is because of the night you came home covered in blood.” Gerard said, and it was not a question so much as a statement; a matter of fact. Frank shrugged, again, uncomfortable. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t just…” Gerard imitated Frank’s motion.  
  
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Frank bit back, both defeated and somewhat defensive.  
  
“Anything is better than just blowing it off, Frank.” Gerard countered, sounding irritated. “I don’t really care, if I’m being honest with you. But you scared the shit out of me that night, Frank. Fuck!”  
  
“I thought you weren’t mad?” Frank questioned, looking up at Gerard who was scowling, his eyes black and mouth curled into a distinctive frown.  
  
“Fuck you.” Gerard cackled, an irritated unamused sound coming from his lungs. “I’ve changed my mind.” Frank stood from his seat then, starting to feel the pressure crushing in on him, and turned to face Gerard. “ _Of course_ this is about that night.”  
  
Frank took a deep breath in, trying not to let his own anger show through. He knew unequivocally that he had no right to be mad, but his defenses were building, forcing him to keep his guard up. “Won’t your therapist be _disappointed?_ ” He sneered with mockery at Gerard, who stood to match him.  
  
“Fuck you and fuck her!” Gerard yelled then, stepping around the coffee table. “A year of therapy and I _still_ have the nightmares!” Gerard shouted now standing in front of Frank, the tips of his bare toes just barely brushing Frank’s shoes. “How fucking _dare_ you.” Gerard nearly whispered, his lips dripping with venom.  
  
“How dare I? How _dare_ I?” Frank countered, sardonic. “How fucking dare _you_ , Gerard, always fucking walking around this place like you own it. Always conveniently placed right where I need to be, always fucking…” Frank panted, having no real argument and nowhere to go with his words. “I live here for three fucking years, no one bothering me, and then _you_ come along and have to be so fucking nosey!” Frank was noticeably yelling at this point, taking a step back from Gerard who was still in his face, making almost no reaction to his arguments. “And then…” Frank tittered. “The one night I come home, so _fucking_ tired, so god damn exhausted, that I forgot I had to be quiet as a mother fucking _church mouse_ you have come out here and interrogate me.” Frank was red in the face, using every ounce of strength he had just to bite out the words. He turned his back to Gerard, facing the wall next to the couch, only because he thought he might cry with frustration. “I just wanted to fucking sleep!” He shrieked, and swung his fist at the wall before he was able to stop himself.  
  
His fingers were mere inches from the grey wall just as he felt Gerard’s arms heave his shoulders backwards. His fist missed the wall by only moments, arm swinging back around and falling into his chest. “That’s _my_ wall you fucking teenager.” Gerard said through gritted teeth, holding Frank’s upper body away from his newly painted drywall.  
  
Frank attempted to tear himself away from Gerard’s grip instantly. “Let fucking go of me.”  
  
“No.” Gerard snapped. “Not until you give me a proper explanation.” Frank continued to squirm and push.  
  
“Fuck you, Gerard. I already told you why I broke in, what more do you want?”  
  
“I want to know why… _fucking hold still_ …why you were covered in blood that night.” Gerard demanded, as Frank continued to thrash.  
  
“Let me go!” Frank shouted, and Gerard pulled him closer to his chest, keeping him in a vice like grip.  
  
“I will if you sit down and answer me.” Frank stopped thrashing as roughly for a moment, trying to think of an explanation that _didn’t_ involve having murdered someone. “And I’ll know if you’re lying.” Gerard said, almost as if he heard Frank’s thoughts. He stilled himself for a moment, allowing Gerard to grip his shoulders from behind, settling his breath. Frank had never killed anyone he didn’t know deserved it before, but he would…if he had to.  
  
“Fine.” He finally said, and Gerard released him. Frank walked bodily to the couch and threw himself down on it. He wasn’t happy about the implications, about the thoughts that crossed through his mind that kept saying _you can always kill him…_ as if that was an option he wanted to consider. He was faced with a choice…tell Gerard the truth, and possibly have him turn him into the police, or tell Gerard a pieced together, almost obvious, lie and _then_ maybe have him turn Frank into the police for breaking and entering as well as the understandable ‘coming home covered in blood’.  
  
He hadn’t realized it had been well over a few minutes since he sat down until Gerard cleared his throat across from him. “I have all night, Frank.” He said.  
  
In the end, Frank sighed, and tried to start from the beginning. “Tell me what you know about the name Jesse Baird.”  
  
“I’ve never heard that name before in my life, Frank.” Gerard declared, and Frank pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.  
  
“He is…was…a bad guy. A really, really bad guy.” Frank crossed and uncrossed his legs. “You can google him if you want, but that’s the truth.” Gerard nodded, understanding. “He did bad things, he hurt people. Women, mostly.” Frank paused, waiting for Gerard to say something, but he just kept his eyes on Frank and his lips shut. “He was about to hurt someone else.”  
  
“And you stopped him.” Gerard finished for him, and Frank nodded swiftly. “How?”  
  
“I hit him with a bat.” Frank said simply, honestly.  
  
“And then?”  
  
“I…” Frank looked up from the spot on the floor he had been burning a hole in with his gaze to look directly into Gerard’s eyes. If nothing else, it would hopefully scare him into keeping quiet. “I cut his fingers off. And I slit his throat.” Gerard didn’t make a visible reaction to that, just nodded politely, as if Frank had just mentioned the weather.  
  
“And this wasn’t the first time you’ve killed someone, is it?” Gerard decided.  
  
“What?” Frank questioned, as if Gerard’s insinuation was ridiculous and unreasonable.  
  
“You’ve killed before.” Gerard countered as if it was nothing. “Probably a few times, if not more.”  
  
“I don’t…” Frank started, but was cut off before he could finish, though he didn’t have a response ready to begin with.  
  
“It’s obvious in the way you tell the story.” Gerard began. “You’re numb to it. I can hear it in your voice.” Frank sat quietly, letting Gerard analyze him for failure of anything else to say. “I’ve met guys like you before. Served with them. Fought alongside them. God how I wanted to _be_ them. But I never could…every time I took a life a piece of me died with them.” Gerard seemed to get lost in his own thoughts.  
  
“You’re military?”  
  
“Was.” Gerard replied.  
  
“What happened?” Frank questioned, genuinely curious, and not at all trying to change the subject.  
  
Gerard stood up from his chair and walked over to his filing cabinet, pulling a brass key out of his pocket and unlocking it. He dug through a few boxes, discarding the ones he didn’t want on the floor, and then stopped for a moment, eyeing whatever it was he now held in his hand. He walked over to Frank then; fist closed and held it out for Frank to take. “This.” He opened his palm and a heavy bronze medal dropped into Frank’s hands, a Purple Heart.  
  
“Wow.” Was all Frank was able to say, thumbs rubbing over the smooth finish of the gold metal, flipping it over to read the back _‘For Military Merit. Gerard. A. Way’_. “So, you’re like a proper war hero then.”  
  
Gerard laughed, shaking his head. “Fuck no.” Frank gently put the medal down onto the table. Gerard’s expression was serious, and he focused on Frank. “If I tell you, we’re even, got it? I won’t tell anyone about your secret, you don’t tell anyone about mine. We could both ruin each other’s lives.” Frank narrowed his eyes, unsure, but nodded his head nevertheless. “I hated war, Frank. I was miserable, every fucking day. I lost count the number of innocent people I saw get murdered, but every time…every fucking time it hurt just the same as the first.”  
  
Frank could hear the pain in his neighbor’s voice, his tone changing to something unreadable and deadly. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I waited until we were going into hostile territory, and until it was my turn to stand guard.” Gerard continued. “Once it was clear, once all of my squad was asleep, I shot myself. Right here.” Gerard pointed to a spot on his abdomen, just above his right hip. “It was unbearable, the pain. Oh my god, the _pain_. I told everyone I had been ambushed, that it was a single person who shot and ran. But I had to get out, Frank, either by death or by injury…” Frank listened to him intensely, trying to digest what Gerard was telling him. “I was lucky. I didn’t die, and I wasn’t paralyzed…I spent five months in a military hospital in Iran and then they shipped me back home. Two months after, they discharged me with that.” He pointed to the Purple Heart.  
  
“You’re not serious.” Frank deadpanned, and Gerard nodded lowly. Somehow, Frank knew he wasn’t lying. They both sat there in the quiet for some time, Frank only snapping back to reality when he realized the sun was beginning to rise, a yellow glow shining in through Gerard’s kitchen window.  
“I meant what I said, Frank.” Gerard said eventually, yawning after he finished. “I won’t tell anyone.”  
  
Frank took a deep breath in, trying to become calm with the thought of someone knowing his secret. “Alright, Gerard.” Frank replied drowsily. We’re even.”


	5. Chapter 5

Frank went home that night…confused. Gerard hadn’t asked him to stay; Frank didn’t expect him to. He had well overshared revelations about himself, and he tried to blame it on the weariness and late night enchantment. It struck him as odd, though, how unruffled Gerard was about the ‘serial killer next door neighbor’ aspect. He figured he should feel uncomfortable with that, probably suspicious, but Frank didn’t have the emotional availability to deep dive into the inner machinations of Gerard’s mind right now – evidently he had his own demons to possess.  
  
The EMT’s were long gone when Frank crossed the short distance between Gerard’s apartment and his, yellow ‘caution’ tape over Mrs. Howry’s door that, for whatever reason, made Frank internally cringe – just a little. He was a bit sad, if he was honest with himself, knowing that Mrs. Howry wouldn’t be around to shout a very hard of hearing ‘hello’ to him on Sunday afternoons. Just because he was a murderer didn’t mean he didn’t have feelings. Mrs. Howry had never treated Frank like a degenerate, even if he could see her eyeing his tattoos and unkempt mop of brown hair curiously when they crossed paths. Most people _did_ treat Frank as if he were a degenerate, and he wondered if that’s why he became one. If you tell a kid that they’re garbage enough times, they start to become….well, garbage. That’s like, nature or something, Frank supposed.  
  
Once Frank crawled into bed, early morning sun peaking through the space where the windowsill and the drawn shade met, he existed only as suspended between his thoughts and respite. He meandered the feeling of floating between consciousness and oblivion on his mattress for a few hours, but never fully falling into sleep. All he could do now was wait; wait to see if Gerard kept his word, or wait until a swat team broke down his door and surrounded Frank, guns drawn, and shot to kill. He stayed like that, staring at the wall adjacent his bed, until he lost track of the time. He didn’t know if it had been hours, or days, but each time he lifted his head, an attempt to look at the clock – his muscles protested, gravitational pull forcing him back down into his own anguish like a black hole.  
  
Vaguely, he heard a sound like chiming that he recognized as his phone. He listened to it start, and stop. Start, and stop. At least three times, it rang, eventually vibrating on his nightstand with a voicemail. With what little strength he had, he reached for it, pulling it close to his face and trying to read the time. Monday – sometime around noon, he determined after a few minutes of attempting to adjust his eyes to the light. Unsurprisingly, the voicemail was from Vic asking where he was. After three years working with him, it was unusual for Frank to call out of work, and unheard of for Frank to not show without a call. A quick text was all it took to fix the matter, he lied – of course. He told Vic he was sick, had slept through his alarm due to all of the cough medicine, and wouldn’t be in, and went back to smolder in the pits of his depression.  
  
As the time went on, Frank felt more and more foolish for having let his secrets slip. He should have just accepted his demise when Gerard had pulled that pistol on him a week ago. He pictured it, what would have happened after being shot in the back of the head by his neighbor, passing on the murderous guilt he carried upon his shoulders to Gerard. Maybe he would be burning quietly in the depths of hell right now – anything would be better than _this_. Fleetingly, he considered killing himself, just ending it once and for all, but if he was honest – he was too much of a coward. He’d never thought about what any of his victims felt in their last moments, he assumed scared, almost certainly terrified, but he always _appreciated_ that. Deep down in his gut, he knew they deserved to feel that terror, that pain.  
Something in the way Gerard spoke about war, about how every time he took a life he had felt his soul _die_ , had put Frank into an existential crisis. Had he killed his soul? And how long had he been living without it? Is that why he felt so _fucking_ numb all the time? Something about it didn’t feel fair, he thought, that Gerard was sent – paid, even – to kill, and Frank had exhausted countless amounts of energy, of physical exertion and mental anguish…He pushed the thought from his head. War _wasn’t_ fair; his grandfather had taught him that, having been a World War II veteran, he had no shortage of horror stories from the frontline. Frank recalled when he was a kid; he would cringe at the thought of being in battle, of seeing people get their limbs blown off and their heads shot open. He wondered what changed in him, why that thought no longer made him cower and when it had happened that he’d become so indifferent to it all.  
  
There was a pounding in his chest, a knocking inside his ribcage and then both of his arms were frozen. _’This is it’_ he thought; he was having a heart attack, at 25, and would die – here in his own filthy bed, the world never having known the distress he bore to rid even just his small Jersey town, of _bad people._ Shutting his eyes tightly, Frank felt a warmth on his back, face pressed into the pillow, he expected that it was the hands of God, ripping him from his mortal life and preparing to damn him to hell.  
  
_‘Frank…’_  
  
He heard his name being called in the distance. It sounded beautiful, he thought, like angels. He reveled in the sound, drowning in it, for he knew he would be called by demons soon.  
  
_‘Frank…’_  
  
_‘Frank…’_  
  
Firm hands gripping the backs of his shoulders, chin digging into the familiar beige pillowcase. And he was awake.  
  
“Frank!”  
  
He lifted his head, surprised when he opened his eyes slightly and he was still in his room, unfamiliar touch on his back, not inside of his mind, images of abyss flooding his senses.  
  
“Frank, it’s me, Gerard…”  
  
Frank spun around under his covers, legs becoming twisted in the sheets. “ ‘rard?” He rasped at the shadowy figure beside his bed, dry voice only able to articulate the second syllable.  
  
“Fuck, I thought you were dead.” Gerard exhaled worriedly, placing a pale hand on his forehead and rubbing at his eyes. “I tried knocking on your door for two days. I never saw you leave again…I didn’t know…”  
  
“I’m fine.” Frank said hoarsely. “How did you get in here?”  
  
“Door was unlocked.” Gerard shrugged. “Didn’t think to try it until today.” Frank sniffled and sat up in bed, eyes adjusting to the brightness of mid-afternoon.  
  
“S’Monday right?” Frank questioned, looking around the room.  
  
Gerard made a twisted face at him, his left hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. “It’s Tuesday, Frank.”  
  
Frank groaned, patting the bed in search of his phone. “Fuuuuck.” He found his phone on the floor in between his night stand and his bed, on it only a text from Vic asking him to let him know when he’d be feeling up to work, considering he hadn’t even called that morning. “I’m so fucking fired.” Frank muttered to himself, in between rubbing at his tired face.  
  
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Gerard said, standing awkwardly nearer the doorway to Frank’s bedroom. “Anyway.” He started, shuffling backwards, even if just a bit.  
  
“Wait, hold on.” Frank cleared his throat and attempted to untangle himself from the covers. Gerard stopped moving, placing his twitchy hands in his jeans pockets for lack of other security.  
  
“Mmm?” Gerard hummed, questioning, as Frank finally unraveled himself and stood from the bed, he shrugged, unsure why he had stopped Gerard so suddenly himself.  
  
“Uh…thanks. You know, for checking in on me.” Frank tried to pat down his hair, feeling it stuck up in wild ways, as Gerard surveyed his form. Gerard nodded, thoughtfully, and opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. “I probably would have just laid here until I died.” Frank said, impishly, though it wasn’t exactly untrue. Gerard opened his mouth again, looking like he was trying to force words that just wouldn’t come. Eventually he made a small, pained sound, before groaning and tightly blinking his eyes.  
  
“Honestly…” Gerard started, shifting from heel to toe. “I was afraid you had maybe taken off, turned me in. I don’t know…I was a nervous mess for three days.” Frank grinned at that, just faintly, but enough to make Gerard’s normally pale face turn pink. It was a small snippet of certainty that Frank could hold on to; that Gerard had really been serious about them being even, about them keeping each other’s secret.  
  
Frank bobbed his head slowly, understanding. “I’ve been sick about that since Friday, too.” Gerard’s face finally returned to normal color. They both stood there, in Frank’s bedroom doorway, for a few seconds, taking the gravity of the situation in. They had both kept their word, so far, and seemingly had intention to. “What do we do now?” Frank asked into the calm, and Gerard measured that for a moment, his eyes skimming the carpet below his tattered sneakers.  
  
“I don’t know, Frank.” He settled on. “I guess there are two options.” Frank listened, sitting back down on his bed, shoving the covers off to the right, making space for Gerard to sit. “My therapist always has me make a pros and cons list.” Gerard said, and Frank fought the urge to roll his eyes. He patted the spot next to him on the bed next to him instead, and Gerard meandered over to it, sitting next to Frank, face to face. “The first option, is to take what we know about each other, and lock it away. Never speak about it again. Swear to never tell anyone, and go back to being just neighbors. Pretend it never happened.” Gerard said with a sigh. “And the second option, is…”  
  
Frank cocked his head to the side, waiting for Gerard to continue. “Well, I don’t know about you Frank, but you’re literally the only person I’ve ever told…I’ve never even told my brother, or my therapist. No one. I’d really _really_ like to be able to…I don’t know just _talk_.” He rambled on. “You too. It can’t be even _kind_ of easy trying to keep a secret like that in. I thought…I don’t know. Maybe we could just…vent to each other. We’ve already done the damage.”  
  
Frank stayed silent for a few minutes, and Gerard didn’t push it. He knew that the easiest thing would be to ignore each other, pretend nothing had ever happened, but Gerard couldn’t just let it go. Not without trying, not without vexing his feelings…if Frank would allow it.  
  
“It’s exhausting.” Frank said finally, making Gerard’s head snap up and out from his thoughts. “Keeping it all in.”  
  
“I just have to ask…” Gerard began, waiting for Frank to nod. “How many?” Frank didn’t understand at first, narrowing his eyes, but once it settled on him he sighed.  
  
“Seventeen.” He said clearly, and Gerard’s eyes widened.  
  
“H…how? How have you…?”  
  
“A lot of planning. A lot of research.” Frank replied, candidly. “Most of these people were criminals, and none of them, their crimes I mean, related. I always found ways to make the murders look like they were done by separate people. I almost never use the same technique more than once. Besides, the cops were usually already looking for them, and them turning up dead makes their job easier. I don’t think they ever really looked into the murders that hard.” Gerard just looked at him openmouthed, searching for the words to say somewhere in Frank’s eyes. “You don’t have to say anything.” Frank said, watching Gerard fumble for his voice. “But, if I can ask, what about you? How many?”  
  
Gerard closed his mouth then, his forehead bunching up in brute concentration. “I truly don’t know. I personally killed three, two shot directly at order from my sergeant and one in hand to hand. If it’s how many I was involved in killing? Probably a few dozen. I’ve seen hundreds dead, or die.” Frank shook his head in disbelief. “But, I try not to think about it too hard. My therapist says trying to analyze what I saw in battle is impossible because the human brain is built to go into shock to prevent that kind of trauma. The Marine’s train your brain to stay out of shock, to stay on guard.”  
  
“And therapy.” Frank began. “That helps?”  
  
“Not really.” Gerard huffed out a laugh. “But I pretend. I figure maybe if I fake it long enough it’ll become real.” Frank just sat there silently, taking it in, imagining what it would be like. Trying to see what Gerard saw, and considering if he would be able to go on to live a normal life in the aftermath. He didn’t think he would.  
  
“No offense, Gerard…but why the _fuck_ would you join the Marines?” Frank asked seriously, and Gerard rolled his eyes, empathetically.  
  
“Fuck if I haven’t asked myself that every day for the past five years.” He laughed. “I didn’t have many other options after high school. Shitty grades, shitty parents, nowhere to go.” Gerard said, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt. “Then along comes Mr. Marine with his ‘ _Great Life_ ’.” Gerard said with air quotes around the term. “You know, flashy car, decent salary, hot wife. The works. I bought into it all.”  
“Fucking bastards.” Frank deadpanned.  
  
“Tell me about it.” He replied, but his face dropped into something serious. “I think I thought that if I became this big, military tough guy, I could become who my family wanted me to be. Some puffed-out-chest version of their son, and instead of kissing boys behind dumpsters and getting high in the band room, grew up, got a job, got married and moved the fuck away.” He sighed, recollection flooding his memories. “A better son.”  
  
Frank nodded. “I think we’re all just trying to prove something to someone.” He eyed Gerard picking at the loose threads on his shirt, blunt fingernails scraping against his jeans. “Whether we admit, or not.”  
  
“You’re probably right, Frank.” Gerard looked up at him then, crooked mouth slanting a small smile in Frank’s direction. He exhaled audibly through his nose. “You’re probably right.”


	6. Chapter 6

Gerard left Franks apartment soon after, allowing Frank to get a much-needed shower, change of clothes and a decent meal. They agreed to meet again on Friday, no specifics had been discussed, but Frank reckoned it was so that Gerard could vent what was on his mind, and Frank agreed easily, feeling as if he needed to appease the only person who could ruin, or potentially end, his life. Otherwise, Frank had never really felt the urge to tell his point of view or reveal his enigmas to another person. He was always so guarded of what had happened with Curtis and keeping his reality inside that he buried it deep down in his being, locked away where no one could find it.  
  
Frank didn’t kill again for a year after Curtis – he never had the desire to; after all, Curtis’ death was an _accident_ , he had never actually meant to kill him. That’s what he told himself, until this day, even though Frank can still _feel_ the rage that was pulsing through him in that moment, when he was bashing Curtis’ face in. He could feel it still every time he watched the news, every time he read the paper, every time he murdered again. It was always inside him, waiting to bubble up to the top of his lungs and shred to pieces everything in its wake.  
  
When Frank finally did kill again, it was careless. He had every intention of murder that time, but it was not much of a conscious decision still. It had been ruled by temporary feelings and rash anger, wanting only to destroy the wicked directly in front of him as quickly as possible. Frank was a year departed from Curtis’ death, and he was doing everything he could to atone his sins. So, three days a week, Frank had volunteered at an animal shelter, trying to become the very picture of millennial nobility, in the hopes that one day – when the time came – maybe Frank’s crimes would be evenly matched with the good he did over his life. Of course, at this time, he still tried to hang on to the scrap of belief that God existed, that a higher power would judge him at the end, when his light had finally burned out. Any more, he tossed around the idea as nothing more than child’s play, knowing that even if there were a God, he would turn Frank away without a second thought.  
If Frank had to choose one person, one single, solitary, soul that was the utter definition of scum, it had been this guy. Through hearsay, Frank had learned that he was on probation, just released from jail for assault, and currently putting in his 150 hours of community service. Why the state had assigned him here, Frank would never understand, but what he did know was that, to the man, this was no community service. He enjoyed every moment he spent in the shelters; Frank could see it in his hollow eyes. Frank noticed it slowly, catching quick glances at him when they were in close quarters.  
  
When the dogs wouldn’t obey his commands immediately, he would yank on their chain so hard that they’d yelp, and sometimes the smaller ones would even get drug by his force. When an animal went to the bathroom in their cage, the man would shove it in their faces, often resulting in growls and bites from dogs and scratches from cats – this only seemed to egg him on. Frank couldn’t stand watching it, and the day he walked in on him throwing newly born puppies into their cage, Frank lost it.  
They were the only two men volunteering, and as such, they both got cleaning duty in the crates. For an hour or two, there would be no one else around them while they scrubbed, half an acre of clear field where the dogs could run dividing the office building and the kennel. Frank looked on in horror while his feet moved of their own volition, coming up behind the man, scowling as he flung the last of the puppies behind the gate with abandon. Frank shoved him forward with all the force he could gather, thrusting the man forward and into the metal frame, grating the side of his dirty face and startling the animals around them.  
  
‘What the fuck!’ the man shrieked, turning around to stare Frank down, flared nostrils and sunken lips making Frank’s skin crawl. Frank didn’t say anything to him, striking him in the nose before he could get any of the _multiple_ choice words he had for him out. Once the man was on the ground, his eyes heavy with wrath, Frank lifted his filth-covered boot and stamped on the man’s face, knocking him out on the cold cement floor in front of him. The gravity of the situation hit Frank briefly then, but his mind had already been settled, and it was too late now. He shoved his reservations back down his throat like bile. He drug the man by his collar through the steel doorway and behind the kennels, towards the dense forest of trees that lined the two-acre shelter. There, he crudely finished the job, wrapping his dirty hands around the mans neck until he fell entirely limp. He buried him sloppily underneath all of the piles of dead leaves, snow and dirt that his hands could claw through. He trudged back with haste, face numb with winter cold, hosing his hands and arms off in the nearly frozen spigot out back.  
  
Once he was back in the kennels, there was no one there waiting for him except for the dogs, and he continued cleaning as if nothing had happened, a heaviness in his chest that hadn’t been there before. At the end of the night, the shelter director questioned Frank if he knew where the man was, but he lied and said he hadn’t seen him at all that night. Three weeks went by before anyone started questioning where he had gone, his parole officer showing up and asking if anyone had seen him. It was assumed he took off, ran from something, until the snow started to melt in March, revealing a moderately decomposed body in the forest, found by a runner trekking through the trees. They couldn’t determine the cause of death due to his bodies state, and Frank’s consciousness was too igneous to care that he had gotten away with another murder – in fact, he could no longer even remember the man’s name. 

Gerard showed up to Frank’s door as agreed on Friday evening, after Frank got home from work, the third day in a row that Vic teased him for ‘abandoning the team’ as he so lovingly put it, on Monday and Tuesday. Gerard was wearing his usual – ratty jeans and a t-shirt, but Frank did notice that his hair seemed to be pushed behind his ear more neatly than normal. He tried not to think too much of it. Gerard didn’t speak as Frank opened the door, just waved a shy hello before walking through the threshold. He waited for Gerard to take place on the loveseat, sitting on the carpet diagonally from him, his knees pressed to his chest.  
“You okay?” Gerard inquired; eyeing Franks’ bent form on the floor, and Frank nodded.  
  
“Just tired.”  
  
Gerard made a sympathetic face. “We can do this some other time if you want. I don’t…” He started, but Frank cut him off with a shake of his head.  
  
“I’ll be fine.” He said before unwrapping his arms from around his legs, sitting up squarer to look at his guests’ face. Gerard smiled at him.  
  
“Well, I was thinking maybe you could start. I feel like I always blurt out everything before you have a chance to talk.” Gerard said, and Frank felt put on the spot. He had not agreed to this for him to vent so much as for Gerard, but despite his hesitations, he could already feel his barrier breaking down for want of just _some_ comfort.  
  
Frank sighed. “I don’t even know where I’d start, Gerard.” He thought about it for a moment, where he could even begin to explain to Gerard the _seventeen_ murder’s he had previously admitted to. He felt like he would be digging himself a bigger hole, drawing himself nearer and nearer to his eventual arrest or death.  
  
“Wherever you’re comfortable, I guess.” Gerard said, crossing his legs and leaning on the arm of the loveseat. “Is there anything bothering you right at this moment?” He asked, and Frank forced away the urge to tell that maybe his therapist was rubbing off on him a bit. He wondered if he would pull out a pen and paper next.  
  
Frank just shrugged, unsure of himself. “Everything is up in the air again I guess.” He confessed in the end.  
  
“How so?”  
  
“I just feel…” Frank searched for the words, his toes tapping on the floor. “Uneasy. Like I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”  
  
“You feel like you’ve lost the control.” Gerard replied with an empathetic nod.  
  
Frank focused his vision on the off-white carpet below him, dulled fingernails ripping at the scratchy threads. “I suppose.”  
  
Gerard seemed to understand then, glancing a sad smile in Frank’s direction and deciding to move on. “You said you feel like everything is up in the air _again_ , when has this happened to you before?”  
  
Frank replied before realizing that he would be opening himself up for new set of questions. “After Curtis’ death.”  
  
“Curtis?” Gerard questioned, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs in the opposite direction.  
  
“Yeah.” Frank said with a nod. “He was my friends’ boyfriend.”  
  
“Were you very close?”  
  
Frank made a disgusted face. “No.” If Gerard had a pen and paper right now, Frank was sure he would be scribbling away on it; ‘INSANE’ written in big, bold letters at the top of the page. “Not to Curtis, but to Lillian. We were really close.”  
  
“Lillian was Curtis’ girlfriend?” Gerard questioned, and Frank nodded. “Tell me about Lillian.”  
  
Frank sighed, knowing there was a clear-cut answer, and a more greyscale version. “She was my first girlfriend, in middle school. I broke up with her after a few weeks, but we always stayed close. She was a great friend, just not my type.”  
  
Gerard made a humming noise, thoughtful. “What is?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Frank questioned, confused.  
  
“Never mind.” Gerard shook his head and smiled, Frank thought he saw the shadow of a blush on Gerard’s face. “What happened to Curtis?” Gerard asked, and Frank tried his best to follow Gerard’s train of thought.  
  
Frank sniffled, just a bit, before shutting his eyes and trying to shove that heavy feeling back down in his gut with a hard swallow. “I killed him.” And there it was, the heaviness was back, clawing its way up Frank’s esophagus.  
  
Gerard was silent for a few minutes, letting Frank catch his bearings, just watching him pick holes in the carpeting. “Would you like to tell me what happened?” He said eventually.  
  
“It’s a long story.” Frank retorted, but Gerard didn’t seem to mind.  
  
“I have time.”  
  
It was the quickest version he could tell without leaving out anything important, but not taking an hour or more. Frank tried not to stumble while explaining to Gerard how he showed up at his best friends’ apartment late one night, beating her boyfriend to death, and then coercing her to make it look like it had been done in self-defense. It still took nearly twenty minutes to retch it all up from the pit he had buried it in so long ago, and Gerard didn’t visibly react much, just listened intently, and saved his questions for last. When Gerard _did_ speak, it took Frank by surprise, both the words he spoke and the sound of his voice; calm in comparison to the rough sound of Franks’ coughed up speech.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Frank.” Gerard said, and he sounded earnest.  
  
Frank’s head shot up in confusion. “For what?”  
  
Gerard shrugged, probably not too sure himself Frank assumed, though he hooked his gaze on Franks’ face. “That you’ve had to deal with this alone for so long.” Frank glanced up at his face, which was unwavering in its glare. “I’m sorry that you lost your friend, too.”  
  
“Thank you.” Frank said sincerely. “But I don’t think I deserve your sympathy.” He returned his hands to the carpet in front of him, pulling at the loose fibers.  
  
“Of course you do. Just because you did a bad thing, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, Frank. It took me a long time to realize that.”  
  
“Maybe.” Frank shook his head and pulled his knees to his chest again, head buried in his lap. “But I continue to do bad things; do you think Ted Bundy deserves compassion too?” He replied sarcastically.  
  
“That’s a lot different, don’t you think?” Gerard said, making an indiscriminant face. “Ted Bundy killed to kill. I don’t know all the facts Frank, but it doesn’t sound like you kill just for the hell of it. You have your morals behind it” Frank shrugged inward, his face still buried in his knees. “Would you compare _me_ to Ted Bundy?”  
  
Frank thought about that for a moment, and shook his head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”  
  
“That’s my point…listen…” Gerard started, and chanced sliding off of the couch to sit in front of Frank’s depressed form. “Us men in the U.S military, any military really, kill. We kill…for what? For oil? For ‘freedom?’ That’s ridiculous, and completely nauseating. That’s just false politics and plain greed.” Gerard placed a soft hand on Frank’s left knee; making him shut his eyes tighter inside of the hole he had planted his face. “It doesn’t matter the number, Frank. It matters why. To me, anyway.” Frank looked up at him then, his eyes squinting from the flood of light. Some of Gerard’s hair had fallen back into his face, away from the neat pile he had tucked behind his ear.  
  
“I’ve never killed anyone I didn’t think deserved it.” Frank said, small. “It started as me trying to…I don’t know…make up for something I had done, and turned into this…insane ritual of waiting for that _perfect_ fucking person.” His voice got louder as he spoke his realizations. “It just…spun out of control, Gerard. I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know if I _want_ to.”  
  
Gerard placed his free hand on Frank’s face, cupping his chin, Frank’s body going stiff with the feeling of a touch he hadn’t felt in years; he shut his eyes as tight he could, petrified. “Look at me.” Gerard said, and Frank did as told, swallowing hard and opening to see Gerard inches from his face. “You’re no Ted Bundy, Frank.” He could feel Gerard’s warm breath on his cheeks as he spoke. “You’re better than that.”  
  
Frank stayed completely still for a moment, trying to internally place a name to the sensation he was feeling in his gut, before gently pulling away, afraid. What he was so scared of, he wasn’t quite able to determine yet. Gerard smiled, knowingly, and stood up, holding a hand out to help Frank off of the floor. Frank thought about thanking him before he left, but he didn’t know how, and so he just cocked an awkward smile, and said ‘See you next week.’ Gerard agreed, saying goodbye, until next time.


	7. Chapter 7

Frank knocked on Gerard’s door lowly, so softly it was nearly inaudible, the next Friday evening around 7:00. It took a moment for Gerard to hear it, muting the T.V and standing from his seat when he noticed. Frank was _tense_ behind the door, to put it lightly, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but then again, he never could anymore. Something about the way Gerard had this intrinsic ability to tear down Frank’s walls, brick by brick. Gradually, carefully, he was becoming vulnerable and he virtually didn’t realize it until after he had opened up his bearings and exposed all of his cards. It was a fine line they were dancing between too much and not enough; Frank trying to balance the thin track between telling Gerard just enough to soothe his conscience and doing real, reprehensible damage to his life.  
“Hey, Frank, you’re early. Didn’t realize you were coming to my place today.” Gerard opened the door with a smile. He was always smiling; Frank couldn’t comprehend how, but he wanted to.  
  
“Change of scenery.” He shrugged, walking through the doorway without being ushered in, hands in his pockets. “Also its ten minutes past seven.” There were papers strewn across the coffee table, a black laptop sitting on half of them, fire hazard for certain, and an almost empty cup of coffee with muddy brown trickles down the sides.  
  
  
“Sorry, I got caught up working on something. Must have lost track of time.” Gerard said, hurriedly gathering the papers and stuffing them haphazardly into a bag next to the couch. He shut his laptop and pushed it off to the side, brushing dust off the coffee table with the sweeping motion. Frank briefly wondered how there was dust on the wood table already when he had just moved in a month ago. Frank had always been a neat freak.  
  
“No worries.” Said Frank, shuffling into place on the couch. “What do you do for work? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”  
  
“Oh I don’t really work to be honest.” Gerard said, picking up his near empty mug and taking the last few cold sips. “I get military benefits and a stipend so I don’t really need to. But, it’s not a lot of money, so I sometimes do art commissions. Usually digital stuff, logos and the like.” Gerard jawed off quickly. “It’s not my favorite, but it keeps the lights on.”  
  
“That’s cool.” Frank responded plainly. “You get a benefit from the military?”  
  
Gerard nodded. “For being injured in service.” He said nonchalantly, and Frank considered him for a moment, letting the realization dawn on him in pieces. Gerard had been injured in war, sure, but under massively different circumstances than he let on, and Frank discerned that he wouldn’t be comfortable taking money for an injury _he_ caused if it was his choice.  
  
“And you take it?” He blurted out before he was able to stop himself. Gerard looked at him, something like offence on his face.  
  
“I…” He started, cautious. “I mean, yeah. What else am I supposed to do?”  
  
Frank furrowed his brow, serious. “Get a job?”  
  
“Screw you, Frank.” Gerard spat, a hint of hurt behind the words. “I never claimed to be a _good guy_. He sat back in his chair, adjacent to Frank, and pursed his lips, thinking, before ultimately speaking again. “I tried.” He took a long pause between words. “After I healed, I tried. But between therapy, physical rehab, and just generally being a fucking mess, I couldn’t hold down a job.”  
  
“Oh.” Frank whispered, feeling like an asshole.  
  
“Yeah. _Oh._ ” Gerard mumbled, obviously slighted.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Just forget it.” Gerard sighed, clearly affronted but wanting to move on from the conversation.  
  
Frank cleared his throat and sat forward, elbows resting on his knees. “No, really. I am sorry. I’ve just had a long day. Week, really.” Frank confessed truthfully. He had begun searching his next target earlier in the week, an arsonist who set fire to an empty row of townhomes over a month ago. He had been easy to trace, and Frank was already content with the idea. The fire he started had blazed out of control, spreading to the row of households behind it, nearly claiming an entire family while they were sleeping. The son was currently recuperating with second degree burns and was expected to recover, but the dad, who ran in to find the son, did not survive. Frank couldn’t fathom trying to go on with his life after an agony like that.  
  
Gerard cocked a reluctant smile then, crooked and very much _Gerard_. “Did you wanna talk about it?” He asked, so earnestly that Frank almost liquefied right then and there, a puddle on the floor of mixed emotions he couldn’t process in front of Gerard’s couch. How did he _do that_ Frank pondered – change emotions seemingly in an instant and make everything seem so inconsequential. As though nothing really mattered in the grand scheme of things, so why bother dwelling on them. Frank envied that kind of openness, though he would never admit it.  
  
“Nah.” He settled on, too unfocused to make this about him, today at least. They sat there in silence after that, ten minutes of nothing but quick glances at each other and then back to the ground.  
  
Eventually, Gerard unmuted the T.V and smiled in Frank’s direction. “Let’s just relax, okay?” and Frank agreed, relieved. “Anything you’d like to watch?” He shook his head, not having watched T.V for its actual purpose in years. “Okay.” Gerard replied and set the volume on low, some stand up special playing on the screen.  
  
“I’ve been keeping an eye on this guy recently.” Frank said into the near-silence at one point, making Gerard’s head snap up in focus.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yeah. I have to get back out there at some time. It’s been almost a month.” Gerard looked uncomfortable with that, his bottom lip now pressed between his teeth. “What?” Frank questioned, and Gerard took a visible inhale. “You didn’t think I was going to stop…”  
  
“No…” He said, small. “I just…” Frank viewed him curiously, watching him struggle with his thoughts. “I hadn’t really thought about it at all.”  
  
However, Frank didn’t seem to be convinced - why did it matter? He wondered. “I don’t know what else to do.” Gerard hummed in response to that, pondering something. “It’s all I know.” He confessed, and it wasn’t a lie. Frank didn’t know anything but murder any more.  
  
It was silent again, Gerard staring absently at the T.V, though Frank could see that he wasn’t really paying attention. What _did_ it matter? “Listen, I should get back and get some sleep, but we’ll catch up again next Friday, okay?”  
  
Gerard nodded, and stood, walking him towards the door. “Frank...” He called, just as he was walking through the threshold. “I know it doesn’t mean anything now, but I wish you wouldn’t.” Gerard said, and Frank turned to face him. He surveyed his face for a moment, serious in the doorway, pale hand on the frame and fingers gripping at the warped wood. “When?” he questioned, and Frank understood instantly.  
  
He answered, almost a whisper, “tomorrow” and headed for his own door, shooting a glance in Gerard’s direction before slipping in and shutting it, his neighbor still suspended in the entryway.

  


It was a nice part of town, Frank supposed, as he trotted along the sidewalk. It was neatly lined with arborvitaes and cleanly trimmed bushes on every property. He would like to live there, he thought, if he had a normal life. He’d parked his car blocks away, under the burnt out streetlamp nearer the barren side of the town, close to where he had planned for he and his victim to end up. He walked to the livelier part of town, head in his phone and following the LoJack on his victims’ vehicle. The GPS in the car was easy to tap into and hack, making this guy – Emil – easy to trace. He was just around the next block, parked either at the laundromat or at the bar, Frank couldn’t tell yet. He knew he was looking for a tall, tanned man in his early 50’s, plain for the most part. Once he got around the block, he hid himself up against the side of the old brick strip mall and waited for Emil to walk out of one of the doors.  
  
About fifteen minutes went by when finally, Emil emerged from the bar – Frank was not surprised. He walked to his car, a bit off center, and leaned up against the passenger side. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and Frank watched him light it, taking a deep drag. Now was his best chance. Before he was able to exhale the thick smoke, Frank crouched up behind him, face hidden and pointed blade pushing into the crook of Emil’s spine.  
  
“Get in the car.” Frank growled, and he saw the cigarette fall out of Emil’s hand and on to the ground, the orange glow fading quickly as it hit the gravel. He snuck his hand into Emil’s pants pocket and grasped the keys, going almost unnoticed if it had not been for the knife in his back. “Get in the fucking car!” Frank whispered, as crossly as he could in the quiet. Emil opened the door and slid in the seat, hands struggling to shut the door again from fear. Frank shut it for him, making sure to hit the lock button as he swiftly walked around to the driver door. He had to be quick, but not so quick as to draw suspicion.  
  
“Where are you taking me?” Emil questioned, the hint of an accent in his tone, Frank supposed he was a first – maybe second – generation immigrant, if he had to guess. His Grandfather had the same brogue. He didn’t respond to Emil, but started the car and pulled through the parking lot carefully. “Please…where are you taking me?” Frank ignored him still, and Emil began to sob. “Money…I can give you, please.”  
  
“Fuck your money!” Frank snapped, making Emil jump. Frank took a hard left turn, throwing the already slack Emil into the door.  
  
“What do you want from me?!” Emil cried, and Frank recoiled. He hated it when they cried.  
  
“I _want_ you to shut the fuck up!” Frank pulled the car into the empty lot where a row of townhomes once stood, now only charred rubble on the ground, yellow tape surrounding the perimeter. “ _You_ did this, Emil.”  
  
He sobbed into his hands, never once looking up to see the wreckage Frank had brought him to. “Yes, yes I did this. Accident.” He attempted to say in-between cries.  
  
“You killed a man, Emil. A father. You nearly killed a five year old boy.” Frank stated, lowly but clearly.  
  
“It was accident…I only mean to set empty buildings on fire. They were investments. I…I could not afford them. Insurance. Insurance.” Emil stuttered through labored breaths.  
  
“Well you _fucked it up!_ ” Frank spat, pulling away from the debris. “Do you know what happens now Emil?”  
  
“Please, no, I cannot go to jail. Please.”  
  
Frank laughed, driving the car a bit faster now, towards the dark forest lined roads of Belleville, deeper and deeper into nonexistence. “You’re not going to jail, Emil.”  
  
For a moment, he looked relieved, but it passed as quickly as it came, and he _begged_. “Please, no, please it was an accident!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Emil, truly, but it’s time.” Frank pulled the car into a field, nothing to be seen for miles around them, and shut the lights off. “Get out.”  
  
Emil got out of the car with another sob, his knees immediately plummeting to the grass, weak. Frank followed him, coming around in the darkness to see Emil’s shadow on the ground in front of him. “Get up Emil. Face your death like a man.” Frank declared, and Emil clawed at Franks legs, pulling on to him for mercy.  
  
“Please…” Emil wept, and he _almost_ felt bad.  
  
“Get up!” Frank yelled, actually shrieked this time, no ears except corn to hear him for acres. “Look at me in the eyes!” He screamed as Emil clawed his way up on shaky legs, slouched against the car and in front of Frank where he placed the knife directly in his eye line. “Walk.”  
  
Emil walked in front of Frank for yards, until they came to a small clearing where Frank was satisfied; only wet sod on the ground around them. Emil was still sobbing, though less vehemently than before. “Turn around and face me.” Emil he did as told. “Take out your lighter.”  
  
“Please…” Emil tried one last time, almost a whisper, earning a groan from Frank who was tired of hearing it. Emil pulled the small lighter he used earlier out of his pants pocket, holding it in his hand in front of Frank.  
  
“Listen to me very carefully, Emil.” Frank said, walking around the shaking man and slipping the knife back into his pocket in exchange for something else. “I’m going to pour this on you.” He came back around front, holding a small grey can he had pulled from his jacket pocket. “And then you’re going to light your lighter. Simple.” Emil cried, his knees falling to the ground. “It’s only fair that you suffer the same fate, is it not?” Frank argued, in front of the sniveling man.  
  
“Please…please…you are better than this.” Emil cried, and Frank stopped.  
  
“What the _fuck_ did you just say to me?” Frank grabbed him by the collar, feet squashing in the wet turf. He looked into Emil’s face, but couldn’t make out his features. He stood there for a moment, holding him by the neck of his shirt, searching for _anything_. Suddenly, he felt Emil quiver, movement below him, but he couldn’t focus on it.  
  
It was _Gerard_ who had said that. _‘You’re no Ted Bundy, Frank…You’re better than that.’_ _’Fuck’_ , he thought, momentarily, about to drop Emil and get this over with so he could go home, pack his shit and move before Gerard could assault his brain any longer.  
  
There was another shuffling from below, Emil quiet, as Frank released him, ready to uncap the gray flask when he felt a searing pain in his left thigh, like nothing he had ever felt before. “You fucking bastard!” Frank screamed, knowing Emil had done _something_ , but unable to distinguish _what_ in the darkness.  
  
He patted his hands on his leg, feeling around at the wet spot on his pants, the unmistakable texture of blood, and his own knife stuck about three inches into the flesh. Frank pulled it out of his leg with a squelch, and Emil started crawling on the ground feebly, away from Frank. He had fished the knife out of his pocket somehow.  
  
Though the pain was intense, Frank ran after him, grabbing him by his sweaty blonde hair and pulling him back to the wet grass with little compassion. He wasted no time now dumping the fluid on him, Emil begging, crying, and apologizing all the while. “Light it!” Frank shouted, holding the now bloody knife near Emil’s face, his arm outstretched and body as far away from the soon to be engulfed body as possible. Emil held the lighter in front of him, stilling himself for a moment, and just as Frank was about to scream at him to light it again, he did.  
  
His body went up quickly, rising up his lower half to his head as it followed the lighter fluid, and Emil screamed, for just a few moments. Frank held his ears until it stopped. As the fire was dying down, unable to expand on the wet ground, Frank wiped off the can with a cloth and threw it at the flames.  
He held his leg for a few minutes, watching the quiet fire burn out until the smell was too much to take, and he turned his heal and walked away. He quickly wiped down the inside of the car for any possible trace of himself, leaving the wiped clean keys on the seat. He hobbled away from the car, willing himself to be able to drive it back home, but knowing this would never be convincing if Emil’s car wasn’t where he seemingly committed suicide, so Frank left it, dragging his agonizing leg back the distance to his own. He took one last look at the fire behind him, flames low and orange now, and continued forward.  
  
His leg persisted bleeding off and on as he moseyed to his car, his left hand doing its best to hold the wound shut as he walked, bent over. It took him nearly an hour to trudge the less than a mile walk to his car – and when finally he opened it, shoving his tired body in, he smeared blood all over the tan seats. He gritted his teeth when he had to pull his leg in, bent knee causing the wound to sear pain up his thigh and into his pelvis. He saw blood begin to soak through his pants again, the small chance it had to clot ripping open again.  
  
Frank ground his heel into the gas and drove home as quickly as he could, careful to keep an eye on his leg. He sighed, relieved, when he finally pulled into the complex parking lot until it dawned on him – the stairs. For the first time in years, Frank let out a small, silent sob, unable to fathom how he would be able to drag himself up three flights. He took a moment, breathing deeply, before exiting his bloodied car and opening the building door.  
  
As he took his first step, he felt it, shooting pain into his limb with every move. Each step felt like he was being stabbed again, blood trickling down his leg and squishing in his sock. As he turned the corner, second floor stairwell, he could see his door above him. _’One more flight.’_ he gritted audibly, placing his right leg on the first step. A messy black mop of hair peered over the top of the stairwell, eyeing Frank’s form with uneasiness. “Oh my God…” He shouted, and leapt down the stairs to grab Frank’s upper body. He didn’t protest, just let Gerard pull him bodily up the dirty stairs. At the top of the stairway, Gerard dropped him gently on the floor, taking a breath before heaving on to his feet and pulling him past his own door.  
  
“Wait.” Frank said weekly. “First aid kits, in my apartment.”  
  
“Frank, Band-Aids aren’t going to help you here.” Gerard responded, nearly dragging him now into his own apartment.  
  
“No, no.” Frank shook his head, and tried to pull away. “I’ll get blood on the floor. Please, just take me into mine.” Gerard didn’t care to argue with him, and back tracked him to his own door, Frank unlocking it with shaky hands. There was plastic painters’ tarp on the floor, as Frank always left before a murder, and Gerard’s eyes went wide.  
  
Frank dropped himself down on it, Gerard too busy eyeing the state of the floor to remember to catch his neighbor. “I have army surplus supplies. Just sit there.” Gerard said hurriedly, shaking off the scene in Frank’s living room, and bounding through the door.  
  
Frank just lay his body down, tired and in pain, breathing heavy in the dark of his apartment. He wondered if Gerard was really coming back, and realized he had no reason not to believe he would, but accepted the fact that he didn’t care either way. All he wanted in that moment was death. He had been messy, careless – again, and the thoughts of _how_ flooded his apprehensive mind. He passed out before Gerard came back in.


	8. Chapter 8

‘Frank, I need you to stay awake.” Gerard said, crouching next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder to shake him lightly. Frank was in and out of consciousness as Gerard shuffled around the room, turning on the lights and gathering supplies. Frank could faintly hear him rustling through closets, into the kitchen and back out onto the living room floor. He had heard Gerard come back into the apartment, but his brain was still offline. He had been shouting something about not being able to find what he needed, and not enough time. 

He vaguely remembered Gerard warning him before cutting his pants off, but it was still a surprise when it happened, his instincts making him pull away in his half-aware state. “Would you rather I take you to a hospital?” Gerard questioned, seriously, and Frank shook his head with all the vigor he could muster. “Then I need you to stop moving.” Gerard commanded, and he did, too weak to protest. 

He heard Gerard make a pained noise when he got a full view of the injury, blood still pooling, though less now, his skin sticky with it. Gerard pulled Frank’s shoes and socks off; his left ankle covered in drying plasma where it had fell as he walked. “Missed your femoral artery by centimeters.” Gerard griped, tapping the flesh lightly, trying to get a grasp on the damage; Frank kept his eyes shut tight and attempted to dissociate. “I have to get this closed. You’ve already lost a lot of blood.” Gerard said, but it sounded far away, as if he was in another room.

“Hold this.” He demanded then, handing Frank an old brown towel that he recognized as his own. “Put it in your mouth.” Frank was about to question why, when Gerard started splashing the wound with alcohol, flashes of pain pulling him back into consciousness for a moment. “That’s just the alcohol, Frank; it’s going to get worse.” Gerard alleged, and he did not sound sympathetic, working on something else now next to him. “Put the towel in your mouth.” Frank tried, but couldn’t get his arms to work, tried to speak, but it came out as a whine. Fortunately, Gerard understood.

He picked the towel up from where he had placed it on Frank’s torso, laying it carefully on his face, keeping his eyes uncovered. “Open your mouth.” Gerard asked and Frank did, eyes skimming the ceiling above him as Gerard continued. Deft fingers pushed the dry towel into Frank’s mouth, between his teeth and rough on his tongue. 

Frank felt him place a hand on his knee, patting it for a moment and then shuffling away. Frank laid there, towel in his mouth and eyes staring at the tiles on the ceiling, when Gerard returned his hand to his knee, holding him in place firmly. Without further warning, Gerard pressed down on the wound, burning it shut with a metal knife Frank had not seen him heat. He realized what the towel was for now as his teeth sunk into it so hard he thought he might break them into pieces. He struggled with the urge to scream as best he could, drawn out whines muted in the soft fabric. Gerard let up then, blowing on Frank’s hot skin softly.

“Shhhh, just one more time.” Gerard cooed, holding a lighter up to the kitchen knife. Frank watched it heat the side, familiar orange glow making his skin itch. “Just breathe for me Frank, ok?” Gerard asked, and brought the knife down again without waiting for an answer, hand stilling Frank’s knee, thigh forced to stay in place. Frank could feel the skin scorching – melting, he would swear, and it was fitting. He groaned into the towel as Gerard pulled off, waving a hand over the skin that had been singed. “The hard part’s done.” Gerard pulled the towel off of his face, Frank releasing it from in between his teeth. There was sweat dripping from his forehead, matting his hair down to his face. 

Gerard was gentler now, wiping the skin around Frank’s injury with soft sweeping motions, but Frank still couldn’t bear to look down. He felt his ankle being wiped at with the dry towel, then Gerard getting frustrated and dropping it beside him. Frank didn’t have the strength to ask where he was going. He returned with a cool, wet cloth, rubbing it over Frank’s ankle, his calf and the parts of his thigh that were not wounded. Frank wished he could drown himself in the touch, washed away from the pain throbbing in his bones. In any other condition, he thought briefly that he might enjoy the feeling.

When his leg was most of the way cleaned off, Gerard let out a pant, laying backwards across from Frank, his hands neatly beside him. Frank could see the slow rise and fall of his abdomen from his place on the floor, and he turned his head to watch him. Gerard’s eyes were closed, Frank’s blood on his hands and shirt still. “Thank you.” Frank squeaked in his direction. 

“Don’t mention it.” Gerard replied, out of breath.

 

Frank stayed on the floor for the better part of an hour, simply trying to capture his thoughts and bearings. He didn’t care anymore that he was pants-less, half of his boxers still pushed up around the bend of his thigh, his neighbor watching him closely from his spot on the couch. Gerard didn’t leave, not once, while Frank laid there, moving only to pick himself up off of the ground and sit sideways on the couch, his head on the armrest. If Frank was honest, he was afraid to get up, to see the real damage. He had never been hurt before – not like this. He wondered if he was getting too old, out of touch, or the apparent – distracted.

Tentatively, Frank lifted the upper half of his body with shaking arms, taking a careful peak at his legs. The wound was longer than he expected, almost reaching his knee and halfway up his thigh, slightly off center near his groin. The actual cut was dark, almost black from the cauterization, and the area around it bright red. Most of the blood was gone, thanks to Gerard, only a few stained splotches of skin on his inner leg. 

“Hey you.” Gerard said drowsily, though his eyes had been open the entire time. Frank had been able to feel them gazing on him. 

“Hey.” Frank rasped back, voice raw from screaming and whining. He swallowed hard, head dizzy as he sat up straight. He wondered what time it was, how long he had been laying there. He tried to recall the entire night, really, but it was just a blur of frustration and pain. “Could you help me up?” He asked, searching in Gerard’s direction, and he nodded. 

Gerard slid off the couch, walking over quickly and held his still bloody arms out for Frank to grab. Frank took hold of his hands, lifting himself slightly and then snaking around Gerard’s shoulders for leverage. Gerard pulled upwards without making Frank put weight on his left leg, hauling him up slowly until he was standing, held tight. Frank stayed near for a minute, a combination of being too afraid to move and too drained to put any thought to his intent. Gerard let him stay there, on one leg, arms wrapped around his neck. 

He shut his eyes, forehead resting on Gerard’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat in his chest, and he tried to use the sound to count his breaths, reassuring himself. _‘In…out…in…out’._

“You could have died, Frank.” Gerard whispered into Frank’s ear, chin hooked over his head. 

“I don’t think…” Frank started to say, disbelief in his voice. Gerard cut him off, arms tightening brutally around his waist. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Gerard demanded, holding Frank close, nose buried in Frank’s hair. “Just shut the fuck up, for once. Please.” Frank allowed him to continue to crush him, something like a hug he guessed, until after a few moments Gerard started to pull away, keeping an arm around Franks’ waist for stability. “Come on.” He said, and led him over to the sofa. Gerard lifted his left leg. Placing his bare foot on the coffee table to keep the strain off once he had sat down. “Do you need anything?”

Frank wanted to say no, wanted to say _I’ll be fine, Gerard_ , but he didn’t know how truthful it was. “Just some water.” He said instead, and Gerard nodded, padding off into the kitchen in search of a glass. “Above the stove!” Frank called from the living room, and heard the cabinet door open and shut, the sound of the sink running.

“Here.” Gerard handed him the glass with cool tap water. Frank downed it immediately, not realizing how dry his mouth had been. “I don’t know how it happened…” He said after swallowing, recollections of the night starting to flood back into his brain now that he was fully conscious.

“But it did.” Gerard cut in.

“It was a mistake. I think one injury out of eighteen murders is pretty good, don’t you?” Frank argued, setting the glass on the armrest.

“No!” Gerard said, louder than Frank expected. “A lot people don’t come back from an injury like that, Frank. What if he had stabbed you just a little bit deeper, or just a few centimeters over? You almost certainly would have bled out.” 

Frank took the words in, sighing. “I don’t know.” 

“Exactly, Frank, you _don’t_ know. But, _I do._ ” Gerard said plainly, remembering. “I watched friends die from wounds like yours, Frank. Whether it’s a gunshot or a stab wound or something else, severing a major artery almost always means certain death.” Gerard rambled off, making Frank’s head spin. Somewhere deep down he _knew_ this, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. 

“He must have grabbed it from my pocket when I…” Frank rambled off, putting the pieces back together. Gerard just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “He had said something, and I got a little sloppy, ok? I let my feelings come out for a minute, and it’s the first time it’s ever happened. I’ll make sure to safeguard against something like this in the future.” He reasoned, but Gerard didn’t look pleased.

“I don’t get it, Frank.” Gerard said, shaking his head. “Why not cut your losses? End it? You’re guaranteeing your death if you continue.” 

“What other options do I have? How do I just _stop_?” Frank questioned. He had never even considered stopping before Gerard, and now here he was _injured_ because he let someone fill his head with ‘nice’ words and ‘caring’ emotions, almost as if Gerard gave a shit. “Besides, what do you care if I get killed? You’re just my next door neighbor.”

“Oh excuse me, asshole, I thought we were _friends_ I didn’t realize I was just your _neighbor_ , but I’ll gladly excuse myself after _saving your life_.” Gerard spat, but he didn’t rise from his seat.

“Don’t.” Frank said quickly, even though Gerard hadn’t moved. “You _are_ my friend. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just all hard to process.”

Gerard sighed, just as conflicted as Frank, but determined to make his point. “If you’re _really_ my friend, you won’t make me watch you die, too.”


	9. Chapter 9

Despite what Frank would have people believe, he had really excelled in school when he was a child. He was smart, too. Not the kind of smart that studied constantly, head always in a book, but the kind that came naturally. The kind of smart that didn’t have to try hard. He wasn’t much of a popular kid, but he didn’t quite get picked on, either – at least, not until high school. He was somewhere in the middle, skirting through most of the years with ease. He played in the band, sang in the choir, participated in every science fair and even took his SAT’s - _twice_ when he wasn’t satisfied with his first score. He had every intention of going to college – until his junior year. 

Sometime between the close of summer, but before the leaves started to fall, Frank started noticing her change – how she was getting sick after every meal, the unbearable headaches that would put her to sleep for days, the weight she was losing at a far too rapid pace, and how exhausted she always was no matter how long she had rested. It was January before she agreed to see a doctor, insisting that she didn’t want to ruin the holidays with what she expected was a bad case of mono, or perhaps a touch of pneumonia.

By springtime, her clothes were hanging off her shoulders loosely, hair long gone, and their savings nearly wiped clean. She resisted treatment at first, but Frank persuaded her. _’Don’t worry about the money, just get better'_ he had told her, and so she tried. His Grandfather did not take it well, blaming Frank in large part – maintaining that he had been the cause of all of her stresses, the selfish child he was, and how clearly if he had just been less of who he was, this wouldn’t have happened.

But, by September, she was gone, nothing Frank or his Grandfather could have done at that stage, and Frank began his senior year an orphan. He had never been exceptionally close to his mother, but she was all he had. His never knew his father, and really didn’t care to anymore. She always said he didn’t matter and to not ask questions, because he wasn’t even worth the thought. At first, this annoyed Frank, wanting to know who he was, what he was like and why he didn’t stay. However, as he got older, he realized how much sense it had made. His father _didn’t_ matter, because when it came down to it Frank was a decent kid, and he hadn’t even given him a chance. 

He turned eighteen two months after she died, the only option he was given being to get a job – grow up. It didn’t matter that he was thrust into adulthood in the span of a season, he had no other choices. He closed out his senior year, graduating alone, with only Lillian by his side. He hadn’t bothered applying to college, he couldn’t afford it, and he could barely keep himself afloat. Bills had been piling up for months, and the only job he was qualified for was retail. He briefly considered joining the Army, following in his Grandfather’s footsteps – but unlike Gerard, he had talked himself out of it long before it even became a viable option. 

So, he did that for a few years. Working at the grocery store a few blocks away, making the 5:30 a.m. march there in the dawn six days a week. He kept his head down, his work clean and was always punctual. He didn’t have time for friends, or dating. His only human encounters being the customers at work, and the occasional one night stand he’d bring home, drunk, from the bar down the street that never carded. It was a different girl every time, the occasional guy when Frank would get so drunk he could barely stand, making out with them and then sending them home unsatisfied and confused – too scared to take it further. Frank was terrified to get close to anyone enough to see them a second time, so he was alone most nights, Lillian too busy with her new, rich boyfriend.

In time, he was able to get his own place, moving out of his old, worn childhood home – selling it, and collecting what little cash it had earned. He bought himself a car, something reliable but certainly not new, and after three years of struggling, of unbearable poverty. He felt solid – he could breathe again. 

Then Lillian called.

 

“How’s your leg?” Gerard questioned, walking through Frank’s front door without warning. He was seated at the couch, somewhat awkwardly, in a worn t-shirt and boxers, leg resting atop the coffee table and bandaged thickly. Frank had insisted Gerard went home after a while, insisting he would be fine and could get himself to bed. If there was any issue, he had said, he would just bang on the wall. He laughed, but Gerard didn’t think it was funny. The only compromise Gerard would allow was leaving his door unlocked, in case something happened, and Frank agreed eventually, too tired to argue.

“Uh, okay I think.” Frank said, surprised, reaching down to pick at the bandaging a bit. Gerard had two paper bags in his arms, the door slamming shut behind him. He walked right past Frank, a breeze with his passing that made him shiver.

“Don’t touch it.” Gerard scolded from the kitchen, and Frank let go of the gauze he was pulling.

“What have you got?” Frank called, eyeing the entryway to his kitchen. He could hear the bags shuffling, cabinets opening and closing.

“Food!” Gerard yelled. “You have none!” Frank grumbled to himself, uncomfortable with the idea of someone taking care of him. Even his mother had been insistent on Frank being self-reliant, giving him chores and teaching him how to cook before he had even hit double digits. 

Besides, that wasn’t even true, Frank had food. “I have food!” He yelled back.

Gerard didn’t respond right away, trotting back over to the doorway and peeking at Frank. “This is food?” He asked, holding up a Tupperware container with something suspiciously grey in it.

Frank narrowed his eyes. “It was at one point.” 

Gerard made a face at him, and pointedly threw it in the garbage across from the doorway. 

“Here, eat this.” Gerard said when he walked back into the room, tossing something yellow at Frank. 

“A banana?” Frank questioned, picking it up from where it landed on the couch next to him.

Gerard nodded in his direction. “Bananas have healing properties.” 

“Sounds like bullshit.” Frank focused his eyes at the fruit. “Am I supposed to eat it or rub it on my leg?”

“Fuck off, Frank. Just eat the damn thing.” Gerard reprimanded, sitting down roughly on the floor across from Frank. 

Frank considered it for a moment. “You eat it.” He tossed the banana back at Gerard, landing in his crossed legs. 

“Fine.” Gerard said, and picked it up. “There’s three more in the kitchen for you to eat, though.” He started pealing the banana with a cheeky grin.

“I _hate_ bananas. Why can’t oranges have healing properties?” Frank griped. 

Gerard swallowed the bite he was working on, peeling the banana down further. “They do.”

“So why didn’t you get those?” Frank asked, and Gerard shrugged.

“I prefer bananas.” Gerard said, finishing it off and flinging the peel on the coffee table. 

Frank rolled his eyes, readjusting a bit on the loveseat. “You didn’t have to get anything, really.” 

“I know.” Gerard replied. “But, I wanted to.”

It was silent for a few minutes, Frank trying to focus on something other than the pain in his leg. It was better, but he still wasn’t sure when he could start walking on it. Fortunately, he didn’t have stitches to worry about popping, but the burn was potentially uglier and even if it wouldn’t rip back open, Frank decided he should be at least a bit careful.

“How long do you think before I can…” Frank started but Gerard cut him off.

“Don’t even fucking ask.” He snapped.

“I was just going to ask when you thought I could go back to normal. You know, like walking and working…” 

“Oh.” Gerard said. “That depends.”

“On?”

“I have no idea what you do for work. Like, if you sit at a desk all day then probably, like, tomorrow.” Gerard replied, contemplatively.

“Uh. I work construction.” 

Gerard laughed. “Of course you do. Couple of weeks in that case.” 

Frank grumbled, his hands making fists in his lap “Fuck off, you’re not serious.”

Gerard shook his head, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs. “If you get dirt or something in it, it could get infected.”

“So? Then I’ll just go get some antibiotics.” Frank shrugged.

“No.” Gerard retorted. “You’re not…You could _lose your leg_ if that thing gets infected. What do you not understand?” Gerard shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, plainly frustrated. “You should be in a hospital right now.”

“But I feel fine.”

“Yeah, because _I_ fixed it!” Gerard snapped. “Would you just listen to me?” 

Frank wanted to, but something just felt so bizarre about giving up his control to an injury, or God forbid another person. Gerard seemed to know what he was talking about, and Frank trusted him, he really did – but it didn’t change his stubbornness. He wasn’t exactly straightforward either, he didn’t feel fine, his leg hurt like a bitch if he was honest. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Frank said then, somewhat small. 

“Don’t apologize to me.” Gerard countered. “Apologize to yourself because in the long run, it’s you who will suffer the consequences.”

 

Gerard had been right, Frank realized. He went back to work the next day, despite Gerard’s very, very continuous warnings. It was agonizing, even with Tylenol – Gerard had warned him that it would not touch the pain, but Frank shrugged it off. He didn’t tell anyone about the injury, of course, standing up straight every time Vic walked passed him on the roadway. Otherwise, Frank moseyed around the entire day – trying to keep as much weight off it as possible, far too big cargo pants overtop his bandaging.

The sweating was the worst part, Frank concluded. The bandaging was too tight, too hot, and his pants too thick for the 97 degree May sun. Eventually, he convinced Vic to let him work the excavator in the afternoon, giving his body a much needed break from standing. 

When he got home, Gerard wasn’t there – he hadn’t _really_ expected him to be, but maybe a small part of him hoped. He thought about knocking on his door, asking him to help him unwrap, clean and re-wrap his now soiled dressing, but he thought better of it – too obstinate to do so. He did the best he could, cleaning the scabbing wound with warm water and soap, re-wrapping it in gauze that no matter how much he tried could not get straight. He used too much tape, sticking it to his skin and pulling at his hair, but it was better than asking Gerard – sort of. 

The worst part was that by Thursday, he realized that maybe it _wasn’t_ better than asking Gerard. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he just assumed Gerard would show up as he always does, making offhand comments, fixing things and just generally being a know-it-all. This time he hadn’t. Frank hadn’t seen him at all since Sunday, not even in the hallway. 

Despite his better instincts, Frank knocked on his door on Thursday evening. He knocked for five minutes straight – he knew because he counted the seconds, but Gerard never answered. There wasn’t a peep from inside, no T.V., no sound coming from inside the apartment – just silence. He knew better of breaking into his apartment now, and wouldn’t even consider the idea, even if he was curious – and maybe a little worried.

He would wait until tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow. Friday evening, when they meet. Frank would wait until tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

_“I’m going to tell you one more time, Way.” She said pointedly, red painted lips pursing in his direction. “Do your fucking job.”_

_The woman sighed in her seat, pen flipping between her fingers, behind the hulking wooden desk. “It’s been five weeks!” She began shouting, face red. “Five weeks, and your last report was less than a page! So help me God, I will _end_ you, do you understand me?” She slammed her fists on the table now, painted fingernails digging into her palms. She rose from her seat to stare directly into his eyes._

_“Yes, Ma’am.” He replied, lowly, hunching down farther in his chair. “I understand.”_

_“His blood was found at the scene…” She sat back down roughly; her eyes narrowed in his direction, and crossed her legs, stockinged knee peeking just over the desk. “Do you know how problematic that was for me to have covered up? How many favors I had to call in to make sure that evidence went _missing?_ ”_

_“I’m sorry Ma’am.” He swallowed, heavy, shifting his posture, unable to get comfortable in her presence. “I don’t have the details.”_

_“He should never have been out there!” She bellowed again, making him startle. “You know the instructions. You need to be watching him as well as collecting information. Or was that unclear?”_

_“No, Ma’am.” He countered, quiet._

_“Yet, as of today I have no results from you, only an additional murder that I had to clean up after. Do you think I chose the wrong person to handle this, Way? Because if so, I will bring you back to headquarters permanently.” She questioned, and he sat up straight._

_He shook his head fervently, the thought of being back at headquarters for good pulsating in his mind. “No, I can do this…”_

_The woman considered it for a moment, exhaling before she spoke. “I need the proof, Way. All I have now is a man burned to death in a field in rural New Jersey, something that should never have happened on your watch.”_

_“I understand.” He replied._

_“Do you?” She interrogated, unconvinced._

_“Yes.” He said, opening his mouth to speak again but stopping before he could get the words out. “I just think he’s going to need more convincing.”_

_She snickered, shaking her head in disbelief. “Surely you’re not serious, Way. The boy lives in squalor in a New Jersey suburb. I think our offer will speak for itself.” The woman shook her head. “And if it doesn’t, don’t give him a choice.”_

_“My concern is…” He started, but was interrupted before he could finish._

_“No excuses. I sent you there because I believed in you. It’s too late now to search for another person to finish what you have started. It will never work.”_

__

_“Agreed.” He said, clearing his throat and standing, hoping she would let him leave._

__

_She sighed, lolling her head back in the leather chair. “Is he hurt?”_

__

__

_“Just a nasty cut on his leg. He’ll be fine.”_

__

__

_“Good. Keep him protected from now on. This is your last chance, Way.” She replied, waving a hand above her desk, signaling he may leave._

__

__

_He turned on his heel, face pale and unsure. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll do my best.”_

__

__

_She sighed. “I need more than your best, Way.” She declared as he departed._

__

__

 

Frank vaguely heard a knock on his door around nine on Friday evening, just as he was dozing off on the couch. He had waited for Gerard earlier in the evening, but there was no sign of him. At some point, Frank started drinking his feelings – trying to push away the pain, physically and…maybe something else, and he fell asleep, hanging off of the couch and right leg propping him up in an awkward laying position.

“Frank, it’s me!” Gerard shouted from the hallway, fist driving into the plywood again.

“Fuck. Hold on.” Frank grumbled, waking with a sputter. He rubbed at his eyes roughly, picking up the empty beer bottle off the carpet and placing it on the table. “Where the hell have you been?” He probed through the door.

“Open the door, Frank.” Gerard said, and Frank could hear him rolling his eyes even in his tone. He opened the door wearily, revealing only half of his face, scowling in his neighbor’s direction. “Hey.” Gerard said, his expression seemingly cheerful. “You gonna let me in?”

Frank made a face at him, but opened the door nonetheless. “You didn’t answer my question.”  
“I’m sorry.” Gerard replied casually, walking in and sitting at his place on the floor. “My brother asked me to house sit for him at the last minute. He had to travel for work and didn’t know when he would be back. I wanted to call you but I realized I don’t even have your number.”

“Oh.” Frank said, hobbling back over to the couch. “Throw me your phone.” 

Gerard smiled at him, and tossed him his phone gently. “I thought I would be back in time for our date.”

Frank was mid-type when he shot his head up at Gerard and narrowed his eyes. “Date?”

“Just a turn of phrase, Frank. I’m kidding.”

Frank shook it off and continued programming his number into Gerard’s phone. “Here.” He threw it back to Gerard, maybe a little too roughly. He was just a little mad. At himself, or Gerard, he had not yet decided.

“Cool, I’ll text you so you have my number.” Gerard said, fingers padding on the screen, and Frank’s phone buzzed next to him.

 _’Unknown Number_ : :):):)

“Okay, I got it.” Frank replied, programming Gerard’s name into his own phone. 

“How’s your leg?” Gerard asked next, eyes scanning to Frank’s bandages. He had taken to not wearing pants in the house, the material too tight and too hot over top of all of the gauze. He would have been uncomfortable, Gerard casting an eye over his bare legs, but he figured the time for embarrassments had passed when said neighbor cut his pants off the week prior.

“Better, I think.” Frank replied, propping his appendage up on the table.

“Can I see?” Gerard questioned, already shuffling forward.

Frank shrugged. He truly didn’t know if it was getting better, because he didn’t know what he was looking for. He figured if anything, Gerard would be able to tell him if he was going to lose his leg any time soon. He knelt over and started to unwrap the dressing with skillful fingers. He undid the tape gently, Frank cringing when it pulled at his scab and hair. Once it was open and Frank could feel his skin breathe again, he couldn’t help but sigh. The bandage was suffocating, especially in the near summer heat. 

“It looks pretty good, Frank.” Gerard said, running his fingers over the red skin next to the dark injury. “I was worried about you.”

Frank swallowed, trying not to focus on the feeling of Gerard’s delicate fingers lingering on his knee. “I just tried to keep it clean and covered.” 

“You did really well.” Gerard grinned at him, hand still resting on Frank’s kneecap, thumb rubbing tiny – almost unnoticeable circles in the skin. “Want me to re-wrap it for you?”

Frank felt the words in the back of his throat, struggling to come out. _’No, don’t worry about it. I got it._ But his mouth was undeniably dry, throat closed, only able to nod at Gerard and watch him get up and amble over to the bathroom to gather the supplies – a slave to his confused emotional state. Maybe it had been the pain that made him this way, or the pain _medicine_ , or maybe Frank was just getting too soft. 

Gerard returned with armfuls of Frank’s belongings, kneeling in front of him and pushing the coffee table out of the way. Frank felt him remove the remaining bandaging from under his knee, finally pulling it away from the skin. He merely watched as Gerard wiped his thigh off with a warm cloth, so intensely gentle that Frank could barely feel it. “I really _was_ worried about you, you know.” Gerard stated as he started dabbing antibiotic ointment on the wound with the cloth. 

Frank wanted to ask questions, wanted to ask why he didn’t just _tell_ him he had to leave – a note, even, but they all got lost on the way out of his mouth. “Why?” 

Gerard let the question linger for a few moments, placing clean, soft, gauze on Frank’s flesh, wrapping it around tightly – over and under Frank’s leg repeatedly. “Because I care about you.”

“Why?” Frank questioned again, almost immediately.

Gerard finished wrapping the gauze and placed the strips of tape expertly on the dressing, none of Franks’ skin pulling angrily like when he wrapped it himself, and it felt better already. Gerard set the first aid supplies behind him on the table, his hand somehow finding its place on Frank’s knee again. 

“I just…” Gerard started, but didn’t finish. He bunched his forehead up in thought, his eyes scanning every part of Franks’ face. Before he could stop it, Gerard was shifting forward, kneeling higher into Frank’s space, his hand removing itself from his knee and finding a place behind his neck. Frank froze in place, teeth grinding into each other when Gerard pulled his head forward, their lips meeting softly.

Gerard’s fingers lifted into Frank’s hair and he shuddered. Frank was still unmoving, lips stiff and his eyes open to see Gerard’s determined face in front of him. Gerard kissed him nonetheless, soft mouth matched on Frank’s – and after a couple seconds, he couldn’t help himself. He melted into it, his shoulders relaxing under Gerard’s touch, and lips moving of their own volition, eyes shutting automatically. Gerard pulled away slowly, after only a few sweet moments and Frank had to fight the urge to fall forward into his arms.

“I just really care about you.” Gerard whispered then, and Frank opened his eyes to look at him, to look at his face. He looked vulnerable, honest, and Frank couldn’t deny him. He kissed him again, more strongly this time, with the feelings Frank hadn’t been able to put into words. 

It didn’t last long, just a few seconds more, and Frank pulled away – still too unsure to let his inhibitions run wild. It seemed to be enough for Gerard, though, grinning up at Frank where he kneeled on the floor.

Gerard didn’t speak after that, just grabbed Frank’s hand and lifted him off the couch. He pulled Frank into a crushing hug, hands around the back of his neck again. “I’ll be here next Friday. I promise.” 

Frank nodded in his grip, letting go a few moments later, and let Gerard leave for his own apartment – taking with him the promise that he would be back next week, and all of Frank’s defenses.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a filler chapter, but there are some important details hidden in here.

_‘Just knock on the door…you’ve done this before. Just knock on the door.’_ Frank narrated to himself in the hallway outside of Gerard’s apartment. _‘Just knock on the door, and tell him you need his help.’_ He shifted his weight from heel to toe, keeping his footing light on his left side.

Frank had been in the middle of re-bandaging his leg, trying not to scratch, but the itch was unbearable. It was almost worse than the pain, he thought, constantly trying not to touch the scabbed over wound - he could not ignore the feeling, knowing that he could _soothe_ it if he only just... It was almost completely innocuous, how he reached down and picked at his leg, ripping at the skin with his fingernails. Just as he realized what he was doing and prepared to scold himself, he saw a few drops of blood pool on the disturbed flesh. 

_‘Shit.’_ Frank muttered to himself, gently blotting it with a tissue. It continued to bleed, not very much, but enough that he had to keep holding something on it or it would bubble up to the surface again. He knew that if he was just a little patient, and held it there, that likely the bleeding would stop and he could resume re-bandaging. But – maybe, he thought, Gerard should look at it.

Just to be sure.

“Gerard!” Frank called, knocking on the door. “Is this something I should be worried about?” He yelled through the hallway, stepping back, away from the doorframe when he heard Gerard turn the handle.

“Is what something you should be worried about?” Gerard opened the door quickly, a gust of wind blowing Franks’ hair back.

“This.” Frank pointed to his bare leg, a couple of droplets of blood running down his knee, past the hem of his boxers.

“What did you do?” Gerard asked, grabbing his arm and ushering him inside. 

“Nothing, I was just…” Frank pulled back when he got in the door, suddenly aware that he had on only boxers. “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you had company.” A tall, blonde man sat on the couch smiled awkwardly at him, sipping what smelled like coffee from an old tan mug.

Gerard snickered. “He’s not company.” He continued pulling Frank further inside. “That’s just Mikey, my brother. Mikey…you remember Frank, right?” 

“A bit.” He said, his arm stretching out to shake Frank’s hand. “We met when I was helping you move in.” Gerard pushed Frank forward and he took hold of Mikey’s hand, offering him a shy smile.

“If I had known I would have put pants on…” Frank murmured, just in earshot of Gerard.

“Eh, it’s like your wearing your bathing suit.” Gerard whispered back. Mikey returned to sipping his coffee, unfazed by the interaction. “Besides, Mikey was just leaving.” Gerard raised an eyebrow at his brother.

“Yep. Got stuff to do.” He stood, and shifted on his heels. “Good to see you again, Frank.” Frank nodded and let Mikey shuffle past him towards the door. 

“I’ll be right back.” Gerard said, raising a finger to indicate he would only be a moment, and followed Mikey out. 

Frank stood awkwardly, alone in Gerard’s apartment. He listened to the swing and slam of the heavy steel door of the building as they exited. He looked around the living room in the dim lighting, able to finally take it all in without the feel of Gerard’s eyes watching him. 

There were no more boxes on the floors, just bits of Gerard strewn across the room. A hoodie on the arm of the grey chair, pencils lining the table, dirty sneakers in a pile by the door. Minutes later, Frank heard the familiar slam and shut of the building door again, Gerard’s footsteps – two at a time – up the stairs.

“He just came over to thank me for house sitting.” Gerard said, out of breath as he bounded through the door. He gently shoved Frank forward.

Frank conceded, and let Gerard push him bodily on to the couch. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your visit.” 

Gerard shook his head, kneeling next to Frank to review his leg. “Nah.” He sounded focused, fingers poking at Frank’s thigh lightly. “This is nothing.” Gerard smiled up at Frank, patting his knee. “You just need to be a little more careful.” 

“That’s good.” Frank smiled, small. “Well, I’ll leave you be then.” He set his leg down, allowing Gerard’s hand to fall from his lap.

“You don’t have to go yet.” Gerard retorted, coming up to sit next to Frank on the sofa. “I’m not busy.” Frank calmed himself a bit, feeble defenses already washed away. He reckoned he would heed Gerard if he told him to jump off a bridge at this point. “What have you been up to?”

“Just work, I suppose.” Frank said, his hands toying in his lap.

“Yeah?” Gerard questioned, skirting past any hesitation in Frank’s voice. “I’ve been working on a new piece.” 

“Piece?”

Gerard nodded, hands grasping at something lofty next to the couch. He pulled up a canvas, evidently only just started, with splotches of blue and grey paint washing the background. “Not sure what it’s going to be yet, just started going at it, I guess.” Gerard let his fingers roam over the tacky paint.

“It’s nice.” Frank mused, and he was being honest. 

Gerard smiled, placing the canvas back in its spot next to the armrest. “Thanks.” 

“Do you paint often?” Frank asked, trying to ignore the bend of Gerard’s back and the sliver of skin peeking from underneath the hem of his shirt as he set the painting back down on the floor.

Gerard’s expression was unreadable as he turned his head back to Frank. “Not so much anymore.” He said with a sigh. “I used to.” 

“Oh.” Frank replied. “What happened?”

Gerard shrugged, shoulders bunching up at his neck. “I painted a lot after I got out of the military. It was really therapeutic for me.” He sighed, recollection in his voice. “After a while, it just reminded me of how awful that time of my life was.”

“I’m sorry.” Frank replied, placing a hesitant hand on Gerard’s shoulder.

“It’s alright. I figured I’d give it another shot.” He nodded. “It’s been a while, maybe I’ll feel differently now, you know?”

“That makes sense.” Frank decided, letting them fall into silence. Gerard yawned, and Frank remembered how tired he actually was as well. “I should really get to bed.” 

Gerard agreed, walking Frank to the door. “I’ll see you Friday?” Frank nodded, heading for his own. 

 

He entered the dark apartment, fingers searching for the light switch on the wall near the door, only to find it was already positioned upwards. The bulb had burned out, Frank assumed.

He fumbled through the living room, smashing his socked foot into the coffee twice table before finding the entryway to the kitchen. Along the wall, he found the switch, flicking it upwards, downwards, upwards again – but the light didn’t come on. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket then, using the light for guidance through the hallway to the bedroom. In there, no lights would turn on either – his alarm clock shut off, and the light from the T.V. not glowing. 

There was no reason for his electric to be shut off. Frank knew he had paid the bill – he remembered. In the living room, he could see the flood of light underneath his doorway, indicating that the hallway was still lit. It was only Frank’s apartment without power. He grumbled, falling face forward into his bed, determining that he would deal with it tomorrow. When he woke up, half asleep and tripping towards the bathroom, his eyes still nearly shut as he flicked the light switch on. Still – no light flooded the room, and Frank groaned, too tired to determine exactly why. The apartment was muggy already, no air conditioning to circulate the humid air.

He took a dark shower with the door open, what little light Frank was able to flow into the apartment by opening the shades stopping just shy of the bathroom doorway. He couldn’t see himself in the mirror when he got out, fingering through his sopping wet hair with a sigh. He dressed quickly, squinting his eyes to tie his shoelaces, only able to fully open his eyes once he walked into the living room – new dawn sun shining fully into his kitchen window now, leaving the house with hope that whatever electrical problem there was, would be fixed when he got home. But, when he returned from work, tired and dirty, the lights _still_ wouldn’t come on, no matter how many times Frank flipped the light switch or changed the bulbs. The temperature was no different than outside, the only difference was there was less intense sun beaming down on Frank - but it was unbearable nonetheless. 

“Gerard?” Frank yelled from the hallway, not bothering to knock on the door. “Is your power on?”

“What?” Gerard shouted from the other side, but his feet were padding towards the doorway. 

“Your electric!” Frank bellowed just as Gerard swung the door open. “Is it on?” Gerard nodded, the sound of the T.V. on behind him. 

“Yeah. Is yours not?” 

“No. It hasn’t been since last night.” Frank grumbled, rolling his eyes in frustration.

“Well, come in.” Gerard said, clutching his hand and steering him through the door. “Call the electric company?” Gerard suggested.

“I haven’t yet.” Frank replied, pulling his phone from his pants pocket, almost surprised when he realized he had pants on in Gerard’s apartment for once.

“I’ll make some coffee, you do that.” Gerard turned on his heel for the kitchen, while Frank sat roughly on the couch. Gerard returned with two mostly full mugs a few minutes later, just as Frank was hanging up with the electric company, head in his hands. “Not good news?”

“They’re gonna have someone come out to look at the lines. They said something about there being no signal, so the most likely case is that the line was damaged somehow. Probably by a lawn mower or something.” Frank was still filthy from work, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the dirt covering his clothes, probably wiping off on Gerard’s couch.

Gerard made a sympathetic face, handing Frank his cup. “When will they come?”

Frank groaned, downing half of his cup in one painful swig. “They can’t fit it in until next Tuesday.” 

“It’s ninety fucking degrees, that means you have no air conditioning!” Gerard retorted, shocked.

“Oh, I know.” Frank ground his teeth together, frustrated. Gerard looked perplexed, considering something.

“Just stay here.” 

“What?” Frank questioned, expression surprised, as if it was a ridiculous suggestion.

“Yeah – just sleep here, at least. So you’re not sweating to death.” Gerard smiled, his mind set.

“I can’t just intrude like that.” Frank shook his head, finishing off the rest of his black coffee and placing the mug on the armrest of the couch.

“Nah, it’s no big deal.”

Frank sighed. “I guess.” 

“Seriously.” Gerard said, grabbing Frank’s empty mug. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Frank cocked a small smile at his neighbor. “Thank you.”


	12. Chapter 12

“What do you wanna do for dinner?” Gerard beckoned from the kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and shutting and pans banging ringing through the apartment. Frank was nearly asleep on the couch, grumbling back.

“Dinner?” He muttered.

“Yeah!” Gerard shouted, poking his head around the corner of the entryway into the living room. “Are you hungry?” Frank shrugged, unable to determine if the uncomfortable sensation in his stomach was from hunger, heat exhaustion, or something else. “What do you usually do for dinner?”

Frank rubbed at his face, sitting up squarer on the cushion. He still had his work boots and uniform on. “I usually take a nap for dinner.” He shifted on the fabric of the couch, thick tan cargo pants pulling on the seams. It was a joke, but not really. Frank ate dinner less nights than not.

“You should probably eat.” Gerard reproached, coming into the room and sitting next to Frank with a huff, navy blue dishtowel still rubbing at his hands. 

Frank mumbled something, his words garbled by his hands still rubbing the weariness from his appearance. “Ugh, I’m just so exhausted.” 

Gerard made a concerned face and set down the towel he was holding on the coffee table. “Did you bring clothes with you?” 

Frank nodded, motioning towards the black duffel bag he had brought with him. He had transported a few things across the short distance next door, when he came over after work. “Yeah.” He replied. “Anything I’d need at night, so I wouldn’t have to find it in the dark.”

Gerard patted his back with a firm hand. “Go get changed, I’ll order something to eat.” It sounded more like a demand than a suggestion.

Frank didn’t argue, simply lifted his weight fully with his limbs, shuffling – though still marginally to the right – towards the bathroom, duffle bag dragging behind him. It had been almost a hundred degrees all day, Frank following behind the industrial truck that emptied thick tar, smoothing it as it was laid. The heat was intense, but the rays from the sun bouncing off the wet, black surface were agonizing. There was hardly a moment in the day that sweat had not decanted off Frank’s skin, stopping only towards the end of his shift, when he was so dehydrated that he could no longer perspire. 

He guzzled two half-full bottles of lukewarm water from his car as soon as he sat down in it, the smell of old and dried blood still lingering in the air of the cabin making him nauseas. He was more than glad to be able to trudge his way into Gerard’s cool apartment, breezy air conditioning blanketing his skin as soon as he opened the door. His normal independent nature thoroughly vanished at the thought of having to spend the night in his dark, humid apartment.

He peeled off his cement-clad clothing in the bathroom, shoving them into the bag on the floor and rinsing his face off with cool water in the sink. When he returned to the living room, face still wet and pajama pants and t-shirt hanging off of him crookedly, Gerard was still there waiting for him. 

“I just ordered pizza.” Gerard declared, setting his phone down on the floor. Frank nodded, groggily, plopping himself back in what he now considered ‘his’ seat and attempted to wipe the sleep from his eyes. “It’s kind of nice to have company, you know?” He alleged, taking Frank by surprise. 

Frank looked up at Gerard, his features blurred from having rubbed at his eyes so hard. “Yeah?” Gerard nodded. “Doesn’t your brother come over often?”

Gerard shook his head. “Nah. I was actually surprised he came over yesterday at all. Just showed up.”

Frank made a humming noise, high in his throat. “How come? He doesn’t come over much, I mean.”

Gerard sighed, a question somewhere in his gullet. “Don’t know. Things changed when I came home.”

Frank readjusted in his seat, crossing his right leg so he could face Gerard. “When you got out of the Marines?”

“Yeah.” Gerard nodded, his hands in his lap fiddling idly with the hem of his shirt. “He had grown up so much in just a few years.” Frank remained silent, letting Gerard comb through the thoughts in his head. “We were really close growing up. I didn’t tell him until after I had enlisted. He didn’t take it well.”

Frank’s face was sympathetic. “Why didn’t you tell him until after?” He questioned, second-guessing himself once the words came out. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Gerard countered, shaking his head. “I don’t know.” He bunched his forehead with concentration, the slight foundation of a line in the center of it that would one day divulge into a crease, and then a wrinkle, showing itself. “I think I was afraid he would talk me out of it. I felt like it was something I had to do, and I couldn’t let anything stop me.” Frank tried to understand, but the feeling was lost on him. “He was angry – furious, really. He acted like I was leaving him forever.”

“But, you _could_ have left him forever.” Frank said, and Gerard twisted his face into something painful.

“I know that now. But, at the time, I was just so…lost. I didn’t realize why he was so upset – it wasn’t like _he_ was being shipped off to fight a war. It wasn’t until after I came back that I understood how he felt.”

“How so?”

“Because I had lost him; his friendship.” Gerard said with a sigh. “He had grown up, moved on. He had a job, traveled a lot. He was a different person than the one I left at home. When I left he was still just a kid.”

“How old was he when you left?” Frank questioned, attempting to piece together the history.

“Seventeen.”

“So he was…” Frank began.

“Almost twenty-one when I came back for good. It didn’t seem like it had been that long.” Gerard made an indistinguishable face then, concentrating. “But in some ways, it felt like it had been a lifetime.”

“Did you talk to him while you were overseas?” Frank questioned, his chin now resting in the palm of his hand as he watched Gerard talk.

“Oh, yeah.” Gerard let a small smile fall on his lips. “I had opportunities to call maybe once a week, but I had to fit it in at odd times, and I had to talk to everyone in the span of…” Gerard paused, thinking. “Maybe twenty minutes. I really only had time to ask how he was doing before the phone was passed to someone else. My mom, dad, grandma, the neighbor…you know.” Frank nodded, picturing Gerard in his uniform – dirty, solid, tired….the phone held up to his ear, smiling when his family picked up. He wondered if he were to ship off to a hostile country if anyone would pick up when he called. The smile fell from Gerard’s face then. “Eventually Mikey stopped answering.” 

“Why?”

Gerard shrugged. “He was busy. Working, fucking, drinking. Who knows.” 

“He’s still your brother, though.” Frank replied. He wanted to comprehend Gerard’s feelings, but as an only child he didn’t quite appreciate the bond between siblings. He imagined it was different than the relationship between friends, or kids and their parents, but he’d never really been able to get it.

“Yeah.” Gerard nodded. “Yeah, he is.” There was a knock on the door before he could continue, making Frank startle. Gerard laughed. “It’s just the pizza.”

“I know. I knew that.” Frank corrected, face pink. 

“Sure you did.” Gerard giggled, waggling towards the door. He returned with two boxes and a stack of cheap paper plates on top, setting them on the table carefully. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a plain one and one with, like, everything.” 

Frank grinned. “That’s totally perfect. Thank you.” He grabbed two of the plates from the top of the box, handing one to Gerard. 

Once they had picked their pieces, and settled back onto the couch, Gerard picked up his place in conversation, not having missed a beat. “He’ll always be my brother, but the dynamic has changed.”

“I think I understand.” Frank said, through bites of his pizza. 

“Do you have any siblings?” Gerard questioned, mouth full, and Frank shook his head.

“Nope. Just me.” He swallowed the bite he had been chewing and set his plate in his lap. “Was just me and my mom, now it’s just me.”

Gerard sighed empathetically. “She passed?”

“Cancer. Eight years ago now.” 

“Wow.” Gerard looked at Frank, who had returned to eating. “So you were pretty young when it happened.” 

Frank nodded, finishing off his slice and grabbing another. “She was diagnosed in the beginning of my junior year. She passed just before I turned eighteen.”

Gerard set his plate down. “I’m so sorry, Frank.” 

Frank shrugged it off, halfway through eating his second slice. “It’s okay. Shit happens.” He shoved the last bits of his piece in his mouth, leaving the crust on the greasy plate. “She smoked for twenty five years, it wasn’t exactly a shock.” He shrugged, setting his plate on the table and brushing the crumbs off his lap. “It was just sooner than we thought it would happen.”

Gerard sat back on the armrest of the couch. “Still. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.” 

“No.” Frank sighed, mirroring Gerard. “But it happened so quickly that I had only just processed it and then she was gone.”

“What happened after? Like, did you keep going to school?” Gerard questioned, surveying Frank’s posture.

“Yeah.” Frank folded his hands in his lap. “Worked part time, finished school.”

“And then?”

“I mean. You know the rest, I suppose.” Frank shrugged. “Curtis.” He paused. “Then I moved away, and now I’m here.”

“That’s it?” Gerard questioned, shifting forward so he was sitting on his knees. 

“Aside from the whole serial killer thing?” Frank laughed. “Yeah, that’s about it.” 

Gerard shook his head, his left hand pushing black locks behind his ear. “Yeah, I guess you have a point.”

Frank let the conversation end there, looking around the room, in what had become a comfortable silence. “Hey listen.” He started, unsure how to continue. “I really can’t thank you enough for…” 

Gerard shifted forward more, his top half nearly up against Franks. “Shh.” Gerard shushed him, face inches away. 

“What are you…?” Frank started, before he was cut off, Gerard’s lips on his. He melted into it quickly, a hint of familiarity on his neighbors lips. He let Gerard lead, his hands finding tense place on Gerard’s’ waist. 

Frank didn’t know what he was doing if he was honest. He had made out with men before, but not like _this_. It had always been when he was too drunk to function – to make rational decisions. He’d never questioned his sexuality, just…went with it. But, this…completely sober and so…

He couldn’t even finish his thought because Gerard was clutching Frank’s hand, pulling it from his waist, bringing it up to his neck, delicately, around front and…. _oh_. Frank understood then, squeezing gently, feeling Gerard whine softly into his mouth. He was about to let himself go, fall into the headspace…when Gerard pulled away.

“Frank.” He breathed, eyes black and searching. “Are you sure?” 

Frank swallowed hard, thinking for a moment, before nodding. “Yes. Yeah, I’m sure.”


	13. Chapter 13

Frank awoke to the alarm blaring on his phone with a cramp in his back. There was a weight on his chest, heavy, that he could not ignore even if he wanted to. Without opening his eyes, he let his hands roam down slightly, feeling the flesh of the body lying on him – warm, bare, arms and shallow breaths. His lower half was halfway numb, but he was almost certain that he could feel the scratchy fabric of the green and blue plaid pajama bottoms he had brought with him on his legs.

Gently, he shook the body, hair tickling Frank’s neck as he stuttered. “Hey.” Gerard muttered quietly. Frank ran his hand in Gerard’s hair, lifting the stray pieces from his eyes and placing it behind his ear. 

“Hey.” Frank replied, yawning on the upswing of the word. Gerard stretched out and then sat up on his knees in front of Frank, his clothes askew but otherwise still intact. Frank pushed himself up on the couch, his neck cracking as he bowed it from side to side. He looked around the room curiously, trying to piece together the night prior. “Did we…” He questioned softly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Gerard shook his head, pulling the hem of his shirt down where it had ridden up to his waist. “No.” He said, but he didn’t look disappointed. Frank eyed him cautiously in case he had done something to put him off that he couldn’t recall.

“Oh.” Frank swung his legs around the front of the couch. The memories started to come back then, the feeling of Gerard’s touch on his skin still making him shiver. Frank remembered how exhausted he had been, the placid caress Gerard had been rubbing into his sides, his kisses getting sloppier and shallower, until he felt Gerard slide down and lay his head down on his chest, unspoken promises to continue another time thick in the air. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Gerard laughed, righting himself on the couch, his head coming to rest briefly on Frank’s shoulder, comforting his uncertainties for a moment. “I’ll, uh, make some coffee so you can get ready for work.” Gerard said then, smiling at Frank and standing up to walk towards the kitchen. 

Frank dug through his bag, pulling out the clean set of thick uniform pants and grey shirt. He stood, stretching his limbs, peeking into the kitchen as he passed. “Is it okay if I use your shower?” Frank questioned, his head popping around the doorframe.

“Yeah, absolutely.” Gerard tittered, his back turned from the entryway as he scooped coffee grounds into a filter. Frank tried to ignore the gentle flexing of Gerard’s shoulder blades shifting underneath his t-shirt. Instead, he nodded, carrying his clothes towards the bathroom. In the daylight, Frank was able to take in the state of Gerard’s bathroom. It was remarkably well-organized, each bottle and toiletry stacked neatly in order of size. The shower was no different, a line of bath products against the tub wall that Frank studied carefully. 

Everything seemed to serve a different purpose, whereas in contrast, one purpose served everything for Frank. One bottle of hair and body wash took care of all his washing needs, he figured, but the honey-orange fragrance of Gerard’s detangling shampoo was inviting, that much Frank could concede. It was probably the longest shower Frank had ever taken, basking in the different scents and textures of silky smooth soaps and scrubs. There was not much to Frank, he was fairly one dimensional, but he could see himself carving out a corner for this type of small luxury – maybe. It was far milder than bleach.

His coffee was lukewarm when he returned to the living room, hair still damp and slicked back. Gerard handed him the mug with a grin and let him drink it in silence for a while.

“You used my shampoo.” He said, after a few quiet moments. 

Frank’s face turned pink. “I did. Is that okay?”

Gerard laughed. “Of course.” He brought his face closer to Frank’s head, inhaling the scent. “Smells good. I don’t ever notice it on myself.”

Frank thought about that for a moment. “It smells like you.” He took another long sip of his coffee. Gerard did have a distinct smell – an undercurrent of citrus, dark roast coffee and mint gum, he determined. “I have to get to work, but I’ll see you after?”

Gerard agreed with a nod. “It’s Friday, after all.” 

 

It was raining on and off throughout the morning; what would be an annoyance was actually welcomed for Frank, thick clouds blanketing the sky and blocking the sun’s rays from beating on his skin. There wasn’t a day in his recent memory that it wasn’t sunny and humid; Frank hoped that the rain would finally release the moisture that had hung in the air for weeks.

“Pack it up, kid.” Vic clouted Frank lightly on the shoulder, open palmed, snapping him back to reality and out of his internal thoughts. “It’s gonna’ be nonstop from here on out, apparently, so get it covered and dry.” He said, pointing towards the cement blocks stacked tightly in a pyramid.

“Got it.” Frank responded, turning around towards the heap of tarps on the concrete behind him. He drug the wet, blue tarp towards the cement, puddles of water rippling off and splashing onto Frank’s pants and boots. He wrapped them securely, holding the sheeting down with rocks that, with any luck, would keep the rain out.

“Make sure you get here early on Monday to unwrap and dry shit off if it needs it.” Vic barked as he set the orange cones that they had placed in the road out of the way. “Enjoy your afternoon off.” 

“Thanks, man. You too.” Frank replied, pushing his sopping hair back out of his face and pulling his car keys from his pocket. 

 

“Gerard?” Frank called from the hallway when he got back to the complex. There was no noise that he could hear from inside the apartment, and there was no answer after knocking. Frank was not supposed to be back until closer to six, so the fact that no one was home at two thirty wasn’t anyone’s fault. He considered texting Gerard, briefly, but thought better of it. He was already doing more than enough, and he didn’t want him to feel obligated to stop whatever he was doing just so he could let Frank into the apartment.

He unlocked his own door instead, feeling the heat hit him like a brick wall when he walked in. It would take days to cool the unit down once the electricity was working again, he was sure of it. He stood in the doorway for a moment, considering, and then shut the door and dashed back down the stairs. He had the time, he decided, and headed for the complex office. 

The only person in the place was a young, mousey looking woman with a loose brunette ponytail. She didn’t look up from her phone when he walked up to the wooden counter, continuing to chew on what smelled like fruit gum, uninterested in Frank. The room was small, just one waist high desk and an old desktop computer. Frank figured they didn’t have many people in here often aside from the property manager.

“Hi. Where are the breakers for building six?” Frank questioned, palms flat on the counter, not wasting any time.

“You a contractor?” She questioned, still not looking up at Frank, clicking the gum on the roof of her mouth.

“No.”

“I need to see your work badge if you’re from the city before letting you into the electrical box.” She countered, voice monotone and indifferent.

“I don’t have a badge.” Frank said, pointedly. “I live here.” 

She looked up at Frank then and narrowed her eyes. “What do you need with the circuit breaker then?” 

“My electric’s been out for two days.”

“You need to call the city, then. They’ll have the electric company come out to take a look.” She returned her gaze to her phone, chin now resting in her palm.

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “I did that.” He sighed. “They can’t come out until Tuesday.”

“Sucks.” She scoffed. 

“Listen.” Frank retorted, perhaps a bit too irately. She looked up at him again, eyes grazing his still wet clothing. “I haven’t had light or air conditioning for two days. I _cannot_ go another four without it. I need to get into the breakers.” She considered him for a moment, dropping her phone on the counter. 

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” She snatched a brass key from under the counter and strode around the desk. “Follow me.” She said, a finger coming out in front of her to signal him. Frank followed her quickly, the rain just starting to let up a bit, to the back of his building. He watched closely as she unlocked the steel door that housed the plumbing and wiring for building six. “Box is here.” She pointed, leading him into the room and up to a large grey box on the right-hand wall. She opened it revealing twelve numbered breakers, each one for a different apartment. “Which ones yours?” 

“Apartment J.” Frank said, eyes scanning the switches. “There.” He pointed to number 11, the sticker next to it reading ‘J.’ “Can you flip it and I’ll run upstairs and see if it came on?”

She rolled her eyes again and shifted on her feet, hip jutting out in annoyance. “Five minutes.”

“Fine, whatever.” Frank said as he rushed out the door for the front of the building. He ran up the three flights two at a time, out of breath once he reached his apartment door, unlocking it and swinging it open. He waited for a minute, and then tried flipping the light switch. Nothing. He waited another moment…maybe she hadn’t reset the breaker yet…though there was still nothing when he flicked the switch upwards again. _’Fuck!’_ He grumbled to himself, and slammed the door behind him. He jogged back down the stairs, trying to ignore the ache in his left thigh where his injury was still healing, praying he could talk his way into getting her to tell him where the lines were buried along the building.

“It didn’t work.” He groaned, trying to catch his breath, as he jogged back into the small room. She didn’t respond, shutting the metal ingress to the breakers and shrugged. “Wait.” Frank said, stepping in the doorway before she could walk out.

She stopped short in front of Frank, placing her hands on her hips in annoyance. “Dude, I gotta’ watch the office. I can’t be out here playing electrician with you.”

“It will only take a minute.” Frank declared, keeping his body fixed in the middle of the entryway. “Just show me where the lines are buried.” 

“I can’t do that.” She said, and attempted the step around Frank, but he blocked her with his arm up against the doorframe.

“Please.” 

She scoffed and popped the gum in her mouth, eyes narrowing. “Twenty bucks.” 

Frank made an indiscriminant face, attempting to keep his cool. “Fuck off; I’m not giving you twenty bucks.”

She shrugged, unfazed. “Fine. Then I’m not showing you where the lines are.” She ducked under Frank’s arm, but he caught her by the wrist just as she slipped by.

“Five.” Frank countered, holding her wrist firmly behind her as she tried to shake him off. 

She wrung his hand loose and turned around to look at him, thin brown hair falling into her face. “Ten.”

He exhaled deliberately, considering her. “Ten.” He agreed, and pulled out his wallet and slipped out a ten-dollar bill. She tried to snatch it, but he held it into the air just before she was able to get a grasp on it. “ _After_ you show me where the lines are.”

“I guess!” She nearly shouted, clearly irritated, and started out of the back walkway, towards the side of the building. “The lines aren’t buried.” She said, pointing towards the side of the building, wires running just underneath where the brick met the siding. “Can’t be buried, these buildings are too old. There’s concrete foundation underneath.” 

Frank crouched down, peeking under what was at one time, white, siding. Beneath the lip of the siding and against the old brick, was a bundle of thick black cables, red zip ties holding them together. “How do I know which one is mine?” He questioned, still crouched down, but moving slowly along the perimeter of the building as he followed the cables. 

‘I have no idea.” She followed behind Frank as he slowly traced the path of wires.

“Aren’t they labeled?” Frank retorted, his legs cramping as he turned the corner. 

She shrugged. “That’s why I said you needed to wait for the electric company.”

He was around front now, near the steps of the building, the cables turning down and under the small landing. “Wait.” He said, moving the tall grass that was blocking his view. “Some of them separate here.” He kept feeling around underneath the building entryway, tapping the cables carefully before he felt something.

“Mmm.” She made a disinterested noise, but Frank ignored it, tugging on the loose cable.

“What the fuck…” He muttered, lying his front down on the wet soil and shoving his arm further underneath the concrete enclosure, through the brush. He jerked out the stray cable easily, separated from the rest.

He glared at it for a moment, trying to reason with himself that it had just been a lawnmower or an old wire that disintegrated, but he just couldn’t ignore the conspicuousness. Not only had it been buried into the grass underneath the entryway to the building, but the end of the cable was flat – cleanly cut.

Someone had cut Frank’s electricity intentionally. 

“I’m willing to bet money that one is yours.” The woman tittered. 

“No shit.” He countered, fuming. 

“Got any enemies?” She questioned, mockingly, but Frank had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I’ll take this.” She said, reaching down and pulling the ten-dollar bill out of Frank’s right hand where it was clutched. He let her take it, focused only on the implication in his hands.


	14. Chapter 14

_"I need a strategy.” She rasped, phone line buzzing in and out from the rain, as he prodded through the small city._

_He stopped at a crosswalk, between 8th avenue and Merrick street, to take a breath; he pushed the yellow ‘cross’ button on the streetlamp as he attempted to comb through what he wanted to say. He could hear her fingernails drumming on the desk she was surely sitting at through the line. “It will be in my next report. I’m just gathering some additional data, learning how he thinks.” He surveyed the cars racing by, heading towards the bridge and into New York; he turned his heel towards the suburb. “I want to be able to carry it out with no casualties.”_

_“How much longer, Way?” She questioned, and he knew it was coming. Knew she would ask questions he could not answer._

_He exhaled audibly, just as the light turned green. “Couple of days.” He began to cross diagonally, leaping towards the end when the timer started to flash red again. She was silent, and he knew that it was because she was waiting for a convincing answer. “Three days, at most.”_

_“Three days.” She said, toying around the phrase like an option. “By Monday.”_

_He reached the sidewalk just in time, before traffic started moving again. He almost wished he had stayed in the street – let himself get mowed over. “Monday.”_

_“Mmm.” She made a humming noise, but he couldn’t tell through the phone if it was from acceptance or disgust. He hated talking to her on the phone – hated talking to her in person, even more. “Alright, Way.” She said finally, and he exhaled audibly, somewhat relieved that the conversation would be over soon._

_“I’ll follow up wi…” He began, but he heard the line click dead just as he was speaking. ’Frigid bitch.’he growled, under his breath, the pedestrians within earshot eyeing him suspiciously. He fast-walked away, back home, to finish planning. He now had far less time than he had hoped._  
  
  


__

__

“Frank?” Gerard questioned, slightly winded, as he scaled up the stairs. Frank was sitting in the hall, up against the beige wall that separated his door and Gerard’s. His knees were up against his chest, the roughly two foot long cable lying on the lobby carpet in front of him. “What are you doing sitting out here?” 

“Got done work early.” He responded, tone ambiguous. 

“Oh.” Gerard’s grey sneakers were touching the edge of Frank’s damp pants as he looked down at his sunken form. “You should have called me.” Gerard unlocked his apartment door and then upturned his palm towards Frank, offering a hand to him. Frank clutched his neighbors’ fist, allowing Gerard to wrench him into a vertical position, grabbing the cable on his way up. “What’ve you got there?” 

Frank sighed, following Gerard into the dimly lit apartment, observing him make circles around the room, turning on lamps as he went. He held it out in his hands for Gerard to inspect once he found his way back to where Frank was standing, in the middle of the room. Gerard eyed it curiously, plucking it from Frank’s tattooed knuckles and bending it. “What is it?” He questioned, eyes roaming the item. 

“My electric line.” Frank grated back. 

Gerard made a face, something like unease and confusion showing in his expression. “What?” 

Frank raised his eyebrows, exhaling lowly. “Yep.” He took the cable from Gerard and walked towards the couch, splatting himself down on it sideways. “Someone must have cut it.” He shut his eyes tight; the repercussion of what this could mean driving him senseless. He ran through a mental list of all the people he had pissed off, all the people he had killed. There were too many to name, too many to even remember. And he realized, with certainty, that he may have completely damned himself without even recognizing it. 

Gerard moseyed over, fitting himself into the slight crack Frank had left open on the couch; he lifted Frank’s feet and ankles and placed them on his lap. He pulled his dirty boots off for him, placing them sideways on the ground. “Are you sure?” 

Frank shrugged, just slightly, his shoulders hitting the armrest of the seat with the motion. “The cut of it is totally clean. It _had_ to have been done intentionally.” 

But, when? He wondered silently, trying to envision a time when someone would have had the opportunity, when Frank was always so _on guard_. He came to a realization, then, that the past few weeks he really _hadn’t_ been on guard…at all – he had been getting cozy with the next door neighbor. He wanted to berate himself, internally, and yet – he couldn’t find it in his being to be regretful about getting closer to Gerard. He wondered when that had transpired, and what it was about Gerard that he so craved to be under his skin. 

“I don’t understand.” Gerard reacted, his head striking the cushion of the couch as he looked up at the ceiling. He stared at the tiles for a while; Frank watching him all the time. 

Frank let it be still for a bit, turning the cable over in his hands, feeling the thick black casing that housed the wiring. “Gerard.” Frank started, sitting up, his legs still in Gerard’s lap. “I have to ask.” He dropped the cable on to the carpet, tired of feeling it – searching the surface of it – for answers. 

Gerard brought his head back down straight and to the side, eyes meeting Franks’ with a serious expression. “I didn’t do this, Frank.” He replied before Frank could continue, voice almost a whisper. 

Frank swallowed hard, and nodded. “I just had to know for sure.” He respired; placing his left hand on Gerard’s which had begun rubbing circles in Frank’s knee, something like comfort, he reckoned. 

Gerard chewed at his lip, thoughtful. “I understand. I’d probably wonder the same thing.” 

Frank pulled on Gerard’s hand, moving it from where it was placed on his knee. He heaved him forward, all the way, until his arm was outstretched and he had to shift Frank’s legs back on the ground. Frank grasped at his other hand and promptly lifted him back down, on top of his body until their faces were nearly touching. 

“I’ve never seen this side of you.” Gerard giggled, his palms face down on the couch cushion on either side of Frank’s head. Frank looked up at him, but he didn’t smile. 

“I’m nervous, Gerard.” He admitted, searching Gerard’s face for the answers he knew he wasn’t able to give. 

Gerard laid himself down flat, on Franks’ chest, nestling his face in the others neck. “Who do you think would do something like that?” He questioned, warm breath draping Franks’ skin. 

“That’s the thing.” Frank retorted, his left hand now fingering through Gerard’s hair. “I really don’t know.” 

“We’ll figure it out, you know.” Gerard assured, and Frank really did want to believe him. 

“How?” 

Frank felt Gerard shrug in his arms. “I don’t know yet, but what I do know is this.” Gerard brought his hand up to Franks face, stubble grazing the others delicate fingers – turning his chin to the side so that Gerard could see his eyes. “You are the strongest person I know.” He started, fingers dancing on Frank’s cheek. “If someone wants to taunt you, or harm you – you’ll find them.” Frank tilted a sad grin, listening. “And I’ll be behind you. Between the two of us, you will be fine. It’s them that should be scared.” 

“Promise?” Frank asked, and Gerard nodded quickly. 

“Swear.” 


	15. Chapter 15

Frank stirred with the sun for a change, the unfamiliar warmth on his skin waking him far earlier than usual – Gerard’s windows uncovered, open to see the trees outside. He didn’t – couldn’t – open his eyes for the first fifteen minutes he was awake, the brightness making his head hurt. He wondered what time it was, and when he had been covered in this dense, white-cotton, blanket. He heard light footsteps coming from somewhere else in the apartment; he assumed Gerard, rising with the dawn as well. 

Gradually, he opened his eyes to look around the room, the sun shining a bright yellow square on the carpet adjacent to him. He let his hands feel the cloth of the blanket, drawing it up to his neck and rolling on his side, so that he was swaddled in it. It smelled reminiscent of laundry soap and citrus shampoo. 

“How’d you sleep?” A quiet voice asked, at the entrance of the hallway, socked feet coming into in Frank’s line of vision. 

He nodded, blinking to dispel the sleep from his eyes and the feet drew nearer. “When did I fall asleep?” 

Gerard padded over, his dark pajama pants dragging on the carpet as he walked. “Early.” He sat on the floor, back up against the couch, in front of Frank’s chest. “Like nine thirty or something.”

Frank wiggled an arm free from the snug blanket to rest it on Gerard’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He said, yawning when he finished. “I didn’t mean to.”

Gerard set his head on Frank’s hand, trapping him there between his shoulder and chin. “No worries.” He confirmed, and Frank began to brush the pads of his fingers on Gerard’s jawbone. 

“What time is it?” Frank questioned, his eyes still adjusting. 

Gerard exhaled, zoning in on Frank’s fingers on his cheek. “Eight? Eight thirty?” He pulled his phone from the pocket of his pajama pants, the screen bright. “Eight twenty three.” 

“I haven’t been up this early on a Saturday in years.” Frank grumbled, only half joking. 

“That’s probably because you keep your place closed up like a dungeon.” Gerard teased, his head lolling back on the couch. Frank tugged at his black locks playfully.

“Yeah?” Frank yanked some more, Gerard’s eyes squinting when he pulled a few hair too close to the scalp. 

Gerard hummed happily. “Like a cave.” 

“I’m hungry.” Frank said after a few quiet moments of scratching at Gerard’s scalp, soothing the areas where he had pulled a bit too roughly.

Gerard agreed, turning around to face Frank. “I can make breakfast.” He smiled, the slight remainder of bags under his eyes. His eyes were bright though, hazel, despite his weariness. “What do you want?”

Frank shook his head. “No, don’t cook.” He folded over, still in a lying position with his top half now sliding off the couch gracelessly, hauling his bag from the floor up on to the couch. “I stop at this coffee shop about two blocks over on my way to work all the time.” He pulled out his wallet, digging through it. “Let me buy you breakfast.”

Gerard’s face turned pale pink. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“No.” Frank said, shutting the leather wallet and lying it on the armrest. “I want to. I just have to take a shower and then I can walk down there.”

“Let me.” Gerard said, his hand playing with the loose thread on his pajama bottoms. “I took one last night after you passed out. I can be back by the time you’re done with hot food.”

“As long as I get to pay.” Frank said, a pert grin adorning his face. 

“Deal.” 

 

Frank took his time in the shower once more, lathering in Gerard’s soaps, reveling in the fact that he had a few quiet moments to himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy Gerard’s company, he – for some reason – _did_. He really did. But, it was different for Frank. The low humming of the water running was soothing, and having been a solitary creature for so many years, it was just enough to fill his senses. 

He stepped out of the shower into a damp bathroom, the mirror coated in fog. He heard the front door swing open and click, and he smiled, nearly able to smell the food through the door. “I’ll be out in five!” Frank shouted, tugging on his boxers and a t-shirt. 

He swept the towel over the mirror, getting a blurry look at his face. He looked – well rested, he thought. Highly unusual, and he, in some sense was happy about that. Gerard’s couch was _not_ comfortable, but it was miles better than his alternative. And the company wasn’t bad, either. In conversation, and in looks. 

He pulled on a pair of jeans, able to finally wear something other than uniform pants and the alternate –nothing, with his leg unwrapped. The injury was still gruesome, but it was scabbed over enough that he didn’t have to bind it as often or as tightly. He opened the door, cool air hitting his skin, towel around his shoulders. “Did you find it okay?” He questioned, rubbing at his ear where he had gotten water in it.

“Gerard?” He called, walking into the living room – empty. He was almost sure he had heard the front door open and shut, the sound of light footsteps on the carpet near the bookshelf where it always creaked. He walked over to the door – checking the lock, opening it and then closing it again. 

He padded over to the couch, the towel still in his hand, draping it over the armrest of the couch with a wet plop. He stood with his back turned, cold chills running up his spine – he knew the feeling, knew the sensation of eyes watching him. He was not alone. 

He bent down slowly, square, the side of the couch where his black duffel bag was…gone. His nostrils flared both with anger and with anxiety, and he spun on his heel, eyes darting around the room for it. His wallet, his clothes, his knife…all in the bag. “I know someone is in here!” Frank shouted, trying not to let uncertainty show in his voice. “Gerard if you’re in here, this isn’t fucking funny!” He yelled, voice cracking as he said the words. He let the silence linger, listening intently for footsteps, breathing – anything. 

Slowly, he prodded sideways, in the direction of the kitchen, heart thrumming in his chest. He needed to find a weapon, something heavy – anything he could use to his advantage. He let his shoulders fall a bit, searching for the knife block he was sure Gerard had on the counters somewhere. Finally, he spotted it, diagonal from the entrance of the kitchen. He looked around nervously before tiptoeing over to it, his hand just about to grasp the largest of the handles.

“Grab it and you’re dead.” A voice said from behind him, subdued by a mask, but clear in words nonetheless.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Frank assured him in between shaky breaths, hand still hovering over the knife handle. 

“I’m aware.” The voice declared calmly, and there was recognition in it, but Frank couldn’t place it. He let his hand fall millimeters lower, hoping they wouldn’t notice. “This is your last warning.” The voice said, closer than before. “Drop your arms. Now.” Against his better judgement, Frank did, laying them at his sides as he felt a warm body slide up behind him. “Shut your eyes and turn around.” 

“Think about who you’re messing with.” Frank said, his body unmoving. “Clearly you know who I am. Is this a good idea?” He tried to make his words sound threatening, lifting his chin even though the man behind him couldn’t see.

“I know who you are.” He confirmed, hot breath on the back of Frank’s neck. “Shut your eyes and turn around.” He demanded, voice filled with venom, even if weak.

Frank exhaled, shutting his eyes tight and turning to face the man. “Now what?” He deadpanned, trying to mask the uneasiness in his tone.

The man didn’t answer, but Frank heard shuffling in front of him, the sound of a zipper and of fabric rustling on the counter. Suddenly, his hands were being bound together – and he would have been, probably should have been, terrified – if he hadn’t done this so many times himself. Frank knew how to get out of these ropes, knew he could even as the man constricted them so tightly that he could feel the circulation in his fingers being cut off. He fought the urge to open his eyes, knowing that in his personal experience, the people who actually _listened_ to Frank and headed his words, were a lot easier to handle. 

If Frank were easy to handle, maybe Frank would be easy to let go, too.

“If you make so much as one sound, I will kill you.” The man spoke, close to Frank’s face. “In ten seconds, you’re going to open your eyes, and you’re going to follow me.”

“Where?” Frank questioned, testing how serious this man was. 

“Somewhere safe.” He said, voice somewhat further away. “Ten, nine...” He began counting, Frank’s fingers twisting in the ropes, silently. “Five, four…” He slipped his middle and pointer finger inside one of the loops and held them there, enabling himself to tug on the scratchy rope until his hands were free if he needed to. He would break the fingers in the process, there was no other way, but he would do it – if he had to. “Two, one…”

Frank opened his eyes, but he wasn’t surprised. The man was tall, and he was covered appropriately so that Frank wouldn’t be able to identify him if given the opportunity. He had his back turned, hood up and began to walk forward, towards the door and out. Frank followed him, hands tied in his front, and as he stepped through the door, he wondered where Gerard was. He looked back at the apartment, quickly, a pang of anxiety hitting him when he realized that it might be the last time he ever saw it.

The man shoved him in a car, white and old, outside the back of the apartment complex. He laid sideways in the backseat unevenly, head down. The man pulled a blindfold from his coat pocket and held it in front of Frank. “I need to put this on you now.” He sounded almost sympathetic. “So you don’t know where we’re going.” And there it was again, Frank thought, that pang of recognition through the fabric of the black mask he was wearing. 

Frank nodded, letting him slip it over his head, and laid back down on the seat. He heard the man get in the car, start it, and begin to pull out of the complex, his unfastened body swaying back and forth on the old bench seat. “What’s your name?” 

“Don’t talk.” The man commanded, voice much clearer now. Frank lifted his head to try to listen. 

“Come on; just tell me your name.” He requested again, grinning slightly. He was almost sure the man was looking at him through the rearview mirror – he could feel his eyes on him.

“No.” He said affirmatively, taking a sharp left turn and throwing Frank’s head into the door. “Sorry.” 

Frank’s eyes narrowed then, behind the cheap black blindfold. Something about this wasn’t right. This man was too considerate, too… “Do I know you?”

“Shut the _fuck_ up!” He shouted, startling Frank. He hadn’t heard him raise his voice once, not even when he confronted Frank in the kitchen. He kept his mouth shut for the rest of the ride, his head banging harshly on the plastic doorframe, the man no longer apologizing.

It was a long ride, Frank thought. He wasn’t completely sure, because he couldn’t even see how fast they were moving. It felt fast. It felt like the highway. It had either been fifteen minutes or an hour, somewhere in between, when the car finally stopped moving and Frank heard the gears shift into park. “Are you going to kill me now?” He questioned, half-jokingly, but the man ignored him. He didn’t even react when Frank starting wriggling in the seat, simply exited the car and opened the rear door, Frank’s neck finally unbending itself from the twisted position it had been in.

“Get up.” The man demanded, but his voice sounded soft again. Frank assumed maybe he had time to think while they drove. Thinking was good, thinking bought him time. Frank let the man pull him up from the car, his head dizzy with the position change. Finally, he took the blindfold off of him, and Frank hoped he would get to see the man’s face, but, unsurprisingly, he was wearing the ski mask again, a grey bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where are we?” Frank probed, following him when he started to walk away, towards the door of a large, dilapidated grey building. There was nothing surrounding them but trees, an empty parking lot and what looked like a warehouse that hadn’t seen people in years.

“I told you. Somewhere safe.” The man unlocked the door and pushed it open, the room no more than a concrete box. He flipped a switch on the wall and each square of fluorescent lighting flooded the empty room, one by one, illuminating it to reveal nothing but a few chairs and a mattress on the floor near the left-hand wall. “Sit.” He pointed to a folding chair towards the center of the room.

Frank exhaled, fingers still crushed under the ropes, but ready to break if necessary. He sat in the chair roughly, eyes darting around the room, already looking for an escape plan for when the time came. “Can I at least see your face?”

The man threw his supplies on the floor, facing Frank and sighed. “You’ll have questions that I can’t answer.” He said, and he sounded honest.

“It’s buggin’ me.” Frank shrugged. “I _swear_ I know you. Did you go to Belleville Senior High?” He deadpanned, trying to egg the man on. The more emotional he was, the more rash his decisions were, the more likely he was to make mistakes, allowing Frank to gain the control. If this was someone from his past, he figured, they wouldn’t appreciate Frank toying with the fact that he can’t quite put his finger on how he knows them – and maybe, he’ll put up a fight, and that’s where Frank has the upper hand. All he needed was to get a rise out of him.

“Fine.” He sighed, and pushed the hood of his jacket down. Frank really hadn’t expected him to take it off at all, but he was suddenly pleased at his persuasive abilities. The man pulled the mask off in one swift tug, a mop of well-groomed blonde hair righting itself on his head, and Frank was not expecting that.

His heart sank once he got a good look at him; all of his ideas about what this could be payback for – penance for – gone. Every plan Frank had was out the window. He couldn’t kill this person, couldn’t even hurt him. But beyond that – there was nothing that made _sense_ about this. 

“I told you that you’d have questions.” He spoke, adams apple bobbing in his throat. “But I can’t answer them. You’ll have to wait until we get to Ohio.” 

“Ohio?!” Frank shouted, standing from his seat. “You’re not fucking serious!” He was angry now, pure rage starting to fill his veins. “All because I want to fuck your brother?!” It was the first time he had admitted it, to himself, and certainly out loud. 

Mikey laughed then, just a little, and a twinge of hurt hit Frank – right in the center of his chest. “To be honest Frank, when I saw you the other day I assumed you already _were_ fucking him.” He pushed his hair out of his face, Frank unable to look at him anymore, the sound of his laugh – his voice – too similar to Gerard’s. “This doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

“Mikey.” Frank said, tone severe. “Where is Gerard?”

He shook his head, expression almost offended. “I would never hurt Gerard.” He said. Frank so badly wanted to believe him. “He’ll just assume you left.” And that one hurt Frank, really hurt. Because he didn’t want that any more than he wanted Gerard to be in physical danger. It was a different kind of hurt; he didn’t want Gerard to think he had just up and abandoned him – his home, his life. “You don’t know that.” Frank recoiled, hoping somewhere in his gut that Gerard would realize he didn’t just vanish. 

“He will, because you’re going to text him that you aren’t coming back.” Mikey claimed, waving Frank’s cell phone in the air. 

“Fuck you.” Frank spat. He bounded forward, both hands reaching for the phone. “Don’t you fucking dare!” He shrieked, as Mikey began typing, holding it just out of Frank’s reach. 

“It’s done.” Mikey said, throwing Frank’s phone onto the concrete floor, out of reach. Frank heard the pang of a text message, and then another, and another. Gerard was upset, confused – he was sure of it.

Frank stood still, silently, and pulled. He pulled his arms apart, sideways, so firmly he felt the bone snap in his fingers with a pop. The ropes around his wrists loosened, just enough for him to slip his right hand out, flinging forward and catching Mikey by the throat. Mikey looked surprised, but not shocked, and attempted to wring Frank off of him. He was taller, sure, but weaker – skinnier. Frank could take him, even with broken fingers. 

“Go ahead.” Mikey choked out under Frank’s grip, his face turning red. “Kill me. Gerard will never forgive you.” 

“Maybe he’ll never find out.” Frank spat with fury, Mikey’s back now against the cold wall. He considered his words, but rage took over him. He slammed Mikey up against the wall, his head meeting the concrete sharply, the redness from his face draining instantly and replaced with pained expression. Mikey groaned, his arms grabbing at Frank’s shirt, his hair, anything he could manage and pulled. Frank crashed his upper body up against the wall again, leaving a spot of blood where it made contact, feeling pieces of his shirt tear in the process. One more slam and Mikey was slumped over, stunned but not unconscious, on the ground.

Frank dashed over to where his phone was, unable to even read the messages from Gerard before he hit the call button. He undid the ropes from his wrists, left hand fingers unbending and sore. The call went to voicemail, Gerard probably too angry with Frank to answer – and understandably. He did the only thing he could think to, and turned on his location, the notification that he had begun sharing it with Gerard popping up on their text history. He prayed that Gerard would understand. 

He heard Mikey stir behind him, and shoved the phone into his back pocket. There was blood coming from Mikey’s nose, landing on his lips – lips that looked so similar to Gerard’s. It only served to make Frank more furious. He held the rope in his hands, as threateningly as possible.

“I want answers!” Frank screamed, face red, snapping the rope near Mikey’s face. He looked up at him, eyes still hazy, and spit a bit of blood that had pooled on his mouth onto the ground; he laughed. Frank bound Mikey’s lax hands now, in front of him, roughly and without precaution. Mikey laid there while he did it, still somewhat out of it.

“Believe me, Frank, you’ll get them.” He said through labored breaths, spitting the remainder of the blood on the concrete next to Frank’s feet. “But you’re going to wish you hadn’t.”


	16. Chapter 16

“You’re full of shit.” Frank spat crossly at Mikey. He was standing over his bloodied form still, at least thirty minutes of barking the same questions at Mikey repeatedly; getting a good look at poor excuse of a man Gerard calls his brother. “You’d say anything to get me to keep you alive, wouldn’t you?”

Mikey laughed sickly, shaking his head. “I’d rather be dead.” He said, voice raw from being strangled. “I’m not lying, you fucking idiot.” He attempted to reposition himself, groaning when his back scraped against the rough wall. 

Frank shuffled on his feet, keeping close watch on Mikey’s hands in the ropes. “Then you better start talking.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Frank. I don’t have the answers you’re looking for.” Mikey coughed, a bit of blood landing on his shirt. “I’m just doing my job.”

Frank narrowed his eyes, guarded. “What job? Gerard would have told me if you were a cop.” 

“Fuck no.” Mikey shut his eyes, grimacing in pain. “I’m no pig.” He huffed a sigh of indignation in Frank’s direction, attempting to blow the sweaty hair sticking to his forehead out of his eyes.

“Then, what?” Frank interrogated, the tips of his shoes kicking at Mikey’s legs. “Bounty hunter? Private investigator? Personal vendetta? Fucking humor me.” He bellowed at the man lying under him. 

Mikey smirked, looking up into Frank’s eyes for the first time. “Fuck you.” He whispered, and spit at Frank, leaving a wet, pink stain on Frank’s shirt. 

“You’ll pay for that.” Frank grit out, his hands flying forward and catching Mikey’s damp hair, shoving his head backwards into the wall with a crack.

“Stop!” Frank heard a scream from behind him, but he couldn’t halt his arms from the motion in time, even if he had wanted to. “Fucking stop!” Frank felt strong arms lurch him backwards, hips slamming onto the concrete floor and sending a shockwave up his spine. _He_ was being pushed to the ground now, legs wrapping around his pelvis and locking him in place. A fist met his nose so hard Frank was positive it was broken the second it made contact.

Through lidded eyes, he could just make out Gerard’s shape on top of him, driving his fist into his face once more. “Ger’rd” Frank drooled out; voice hardly more than a drunk murmur.

“How fucking dare you!” He screamed, chest heaving with each angry gasp. “I trusted you!” Frank could see tears on Gerard’s face, eyes red, and it made his heart hurt. He wanted desperately to explain himself, to explain how this had happened but he could hardly speak.

Gerard shifted his weight off of Frank, crawling towards his brother who was showing-up, acting as if he was deathly injured wherein Frank knew that he likely had nothing more than a few broken ribs. “Mikey…Mikey…” Gerard chanted, like a prayer, and he groaned. “What happened? Oh, God, Mikey I’m so sorry.” Gerard could hardly get the words out through the sobs stuck in his throat.

“Hurts…” Mikey said softly, as if he hadn’t just been spitting on Frank’s shirt with malice. 

“What happened?” Gerard questioned, sniffling as he said it. “What hurts? We need to get you to a hospital.”

Mikey was silent for a moment, and Frank tried to quietly sit up, blood still pouring from his nose. He watched Gerard kneel in front of his brother, concern evident even from the back of him. “No. No hospitals.” Mikey said, making Gerard sit back on his knees just a bit.

“You’re hurt, Mikes.” He responded, worriedly. “Stay here, I’ll call 911.” 

“No!” Frank and Mikey both yelled in unison, Gerard’s head snapping back to look at Frank with fury. 

He swallowed hard, his eyes scanning between the two men, unsure what to make of the situation. “Mikey…why?” 

“I never wanted you to get involved, Gerard.” Mikey said, still roped hands reaching for his brother. Gerard backed away from him swiftly, his breath hitching. 

“Involved in what?” He questioned, and Frank could hear the pain, the shock, in his voice – the tepidness in his movements as he continued shuffling away from his brother, towards the corner of the room, still on his knees. “Mikey, answer me.” He said quietly, realization starting to dawn on him in fragments.

“You should leave. Forget about all of this.” Mikey stated, voice clear, but even he knew that would never happen. Gerard would never leave, never forget.

Gerard glanced at Frank, who tried to convey his innocence to him wordlessly, earnestly. “It was you.” Gerard said, gritty. “Wasn’t it?” 

“I don’t know…” Mikey started in defense, but Gerard cut him off.

“You cut Frank’s electric.” And Frank hadn’t even thought of that.

Mikey shrugged, wincing with the motion. “Had to.” 

Frank cleared his throat, reminding the two that he was there. “What possible fucking reason was there to cut my shit?” He asked, voice nasally from his broken nose.

“Was given an order.” Mikey said, his throat dry, and Gerard folded in on himself, back up against the corner of the room. “Set up cameras in Gerard’s place.”

“You put cameras in my apartment?!” Gerard shrieked through his knees, which had been gathered up by his face. Suddenly Frank was infinitely glad that he hadn’t slept with Gerard that night, the thought of someone – Mikey – watching their every move making him sick. 

“Listen…” Mikey started, but Gerard cut him off with a growl. “Gerard, just listen to me, please!” He begged. Frank watched intently, scratching at the drying blood on his lips and chin with his shirt. “I’m sorry; it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“ _What_ wasn’t supposed to happen like this?!” Gerard demanded, fisted hands pounding into the concrete and tears streaming down his face when he looked up from his lap.

Mikey sighed, clearly distressed, but Frank had no sympathy for him. “I can’t explain it.” 

“That’s all he’s been giving me.” Frank deadpanned, frustrated. 

Gerard sat in a ball for a few more minutes, head in his lap, and back twitching every couple of moments from sobbing. Frank so badly wanted to go over and comfort him, but he wasn’t sure if it would be welcomed. He stayed in his spot on the ground, eyes glaring at the dirty floor underneath him instead. 

Suddenly, Mikey’s phone rang – somewhere in the grey bag he had brought with him. Gerard’s head shot up and towards the back, grabbing the bag and rummaging through it to find the source of the noise. He pulled out Mikey’s phone, the name on the screen unrecognizable to him, and threw it towards his brother. “Answer it.” He said, serious.

Mikey stared at it, his finger hovering over the answer button for a moment before he hit it. “Hello?” 

“Way.” She said, loudly, shrill voice filling the room. “Are we still on track for Monday morning? Have you captured the target?” 

Mikey was trembling, eyes squeezing shut tightly. “Yes, Ma’am.” Frank nearly bolted forward, but Gerard shot him an unreadable expression, making him stay put.

“Good.” She cleared her throat, static buzzing on the line. “I need him here in one piece by noon. This is important, don’t let me down.” Mikey made a squeaking noise, high in his throat, as she spoke again. “I know I’ve been difficult, Michael, but this was a high caliber job. He is vital to our mission and I knew you could do this, with just a bit of pushing.” A _bit_ Mikey thought internally, her use of his first name making his head pound.

“Thank you.” He replied lowly. 

“I will see you noon sharp on Monday.” She hung up, leaving Mikey in an almost impossibly worse state than he had been. It was silent for a few more minutes, Gerard and Frank digesting the information.

“I’ll tell you everything I know.” Mikey said, resignedly, into the silence. The room was glowing orange now, the afternoon sun setting away from the building and behind the windows. “But, Frank, if you don’t show up in Ohio on Monday…” He paused, shaking his head lightly “They’ll find you, and they _will_ kill you.” He said, and despite Frank’s better intuition, he believed him. “They’ll kill me, too.”

“Frank?” Gerard questioned, setting his legs down on the floor and looking over at him. Frank was sure he looked absolutely destroyed, his nose throbbing and face covered in dried blood and sweat. “I don’t know what to do here.” Despite all of the crying Gerard had been doing, however, Frank still thought he looked beautiful. Black pupils and red eyes, all strong cheekbones, porcelain pale skin and murky black locks.

“You’re beautiful.” Frank whispered, unable to stop himself. If there was any skin showing on his face, he was sure it was bright pink. “I just needed to say it once. Before I leave.”


	17. Chapter 17

“You keep flinching.” Gerard said dismally, patting at Frank’s skin with a towel he had found in Mikey’s bag. He wasn’t exaggerating – Frank’s adrenaline was still running high, and after seeing Gerard over top of him, crushing him, he couldn’t help but wince away when his hands came near his face.

“I can do it.” Frank declared, afraid of upsetting Gerard more, pulling the towel from his hands and scrubbing at the dried gore on his cheeks. “How bad is it?” He jutted his jowl up when he was done, turning his face from side to side so Gerard could review it.

His expression was distressed, fingers turning Frank’s jawbone side to side softly. “Broken.” He whined. “I _broke_ your nose. Your perfect fucking nose.” Gerard sounded like he might start crying again.

“It’s alright.” Frank said, fingertips unthinkingly touching the bridge of his nose where a lump had formed, causing him to grimace. “You didn’t know.” Frank tried to smile at him, pushing away the urge to scowl with the pain. “How did you get here, anyway?”

Gerard released his chin, grabbing Frank’s hand and pulling him down towards the floor. He sat next to him, legs crossed and head resting on Frank’s shoulder. “I thought something was wrong when I got home and you weren’t there. I checked your apartment, and the parking lot. Your car was still there. It just didn’t make sense. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped you like that.”

Frank petted his head, scratching at the scalp, and Gerard let out a sigh. “Don’t apologize.” Frank wanted nothing more than to comfort Gerard, but if he was honest, he was a little bitter. He hadn’t anticipated Gerard walking in on him in the process of breaking his brothers ribs, and especially hadn’t expected Gerard to immediately pummel him if, and when, he did walk in. 

“I thought…” Gerard began, burying his head in Frank’s shoulder.

“Shhh.” Frank cooed, pulling him in tighter. “He’s your brother, I’m a murderer. Of course you thought that.” He readjusted his position a bit, letting Gerard place his head in Franks lap. 

Gerard lifted his head a bit, pressing a kiss to Frank’s neck. “When you shared your location, I just bolted. I nearly ran here.”

“You ran here? How far are we from Belleville?” Frank looked over his shoulder at Mikey who had curled up on the mattress across the room. He had been groaning, but quieted about fifteen minutes after lying down.

Gerard made a face at him, confused. “Not even three miles, Frank.”

Frank exhaled angrily. “Dude, he drove me around for like an hour.” He went to pinch the bridge of of his nose, pulling back in pain when he brushed up against it. Gerard looked upset. “I guess to throw me off.”

“Jesus Christ.” Gerard muttered, his face red  

Frank kept petting his head, getting lost in thought. “I have to let him take me, you know.”

“You don’t” Gerard said defiantly. “He made his bed, let him lie in it. Let him deal with the consequences.”

“I wish.” Frank exhaled, his hand on the back of Gerard’s neck now. “But, if I don’t…I mean, you heard what he said. I don’t exactly trust him, but I figure that if it was me, I wouldn’t lie about that.” Gerard twitched a bit, and Frank strengthened his grip. “It’s either someone kills me here, or in Ohio.”

“I don’t want you to die at all.”

Frank slid down a bit, pushing into Gerard slightly. “I have no intention of dying.”

Mikey stirred a bit, mumbling something, and Frank tensed up. “He does that.” Gerard said, not having moved. “In his sleep. He talks.”

“Maybe he’ll give us something useful.” Frank muttered. “But seriously, any tips on how I can get him to not be a fucking asshole on the ten hour drive to Ohio? How will I know if he’s telling the truth?”

Gerard shook his head, against Frank’s chest. “I’ll get it out of him. Don’t worry.”

“In the next twenty four hours?”

“What?” Gerard looked up at him. “No, on the drive. He’ll be stuck in the car; won’t be able to escape it. I know how to get to him.”

Frank released him for a moment, pushing his body up to match how he was sitting. “No.” He looked Gerard dead in the eyes, still puffy and red. “You absolutely are _not_ coming with us.” His voice was stern, a warning.

Gerard looked offended and pushed Frank off with a huff. “Be serious, Frank.”

“I am serious!” Frank virtually shouted, and Mikey grumbled from his place on the mattress again.

“You didn’t think I was just going to wait here and see if you ever came back? If Mikey ever came back? You’re out of your fucking mind. Of course I’m going with you.” Gerard declared, turning his face away from Frank and leaning on the wall, as though the argument was over.

 _“Yes.”_ Frank hissed. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do, Gerard. Because if you don’t, you could wind up dead.”

“So what?” Gerard blew, defiant like a child.

 _”So what?”_ Frank scoffed. “Are you hearing yourself right now?!” He was completely screaming at this point, almost sure he saw Mikey’s eyes shut tight when he glanced over, faking sleep so he could listen in.

Gerard didn’t answer right away, his chest heaving angrily as he tried to hold back his disagreement. “You need to understand something, Frank.” He began, quieter, still not looking in his direction. “I can’t just let you go. I can’t… not be there. It’s not that _I_ might die. It’s that I might not be there for _your_ death. Don’t make me say goodbye, Frank. Not now. Not yet. Even if it’s just a few more days.”

Frank felt a lump in his throat, and exhaled. “I have no idea what I’m walking in to. They could ambush us all as soon as we get there.”

“They won’t.” Mikey said, still lying on his side.

Frank narrowed his eyes at him, crossing his arms. “How do you know that for sure?”

“Because.” He sat up, groaning with the change in position. Frank knew that sound – he had definitely broken a few of his ribs. “You’re too important.”

Gerard looked over at Frank, shaking his head, confused. “What do you mean important?” Frank questioned.

“I don’t know the details – It’s classified. But, they don’t want you dead unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m more expendable than you are if I’m being honest. They’ll only kill you if you don’t listen to them.”

Frank wanted to understand, wanted to see some reason in what Mikey was saying, but nothing made sense to him anymore. “Is this like a government type thing?”

Mikey shook his head no, and Frank did not miss the light exhale Gerard did next to him, reassured. “What do they want with me? Why am _I_ important?”

Mikey shrugged. “They don’t tell me those details. All I know is that you’re an assassin, they gave me a target date, sent me home for an extended period of time and gave me orders.”

“But this all seems so coincidence.” Gerard said lastly. “How is it my next door neighbor you’re after? It seems like it could be anybody.”

Mikey shifted uncomfortably, fingers pulling at his hair. “No.” He grumbled, opening and closing his mouth before he could finally get the words out. “It’s no coincidence. I’ve been working on this for months, right after I came back from that two week ‘work’ trip in February,” he said, with air quotes around the word. “Gerard…who found your apartment listing?”

He thought about it for a moment, remembering. “I…you did.”

“I picked it for a reason.” He sighed. “There are plenty of shit hole apartments in this town. But, I had to find a way to keep an eye on Frank that wouldn’t be conspicuous.”

“So you put me up next to a murderer so you could _watch_ him?!” He bellowed, forehead bunched in anger. “No offense, Frank.” He claimed after a moment of realization.

“Frank wouldn’t hurt you.” Mikey looked over at him. “You’re not the kind of person he goes after.”

Frank scowled. “You know an awful fucking lot about me, Mikey.”

“It’s my job.”

Gerard shook his head. “But why couldn’t _you_ move in next door to him?” Gerard asked, and maybe Frank was getting a little offended now.

“Because. You were already looking, and I could have never gotten close to him the way…” He stopped, not wanting to say what he had meant, afraid of straining his relationship with his brother even more than it already was – but it was too late.

“Let me get this straight.” Gerard stood up from the ground, walking over slowly to where Mikey was still sitting on the twin mattress. “You put me in a crap apartment, next to a murderer, knowing I would _like_ him, and let me get fucking cozy with him!” Frank was biting his tongue, trying not to tell Gerard to shut the fuck up – his feelings getting hurt. “You mean to tell me your intent was to let me fucking fall in love with him, and them rip him away from me? I’m just a pawn in all of this!”

Gerard was fuming, burning a hole in the top of Mikey’s head where he stared down at him. “I swear…I never meant for it to happen like this. I didn’t know what else…” Gerard cut him off, bending down and swinging a fist at his face.

“Whoa…” Frank uttered, rushing over to pull Gerard off of his brother for fear he might actually kill him. “Calm down, it’s okay.” He grabbed his shoulders, rubbing a soothing hand over Gerard’s chest to calm him.

Gerard sniffled, holding back his anger, frustration, tears. “What if he hadn’t been like Frank? What if he had hurt me? Was that okay with you?”

“I didn’t have time to really think of the specifics…I just hoped I could protect you if something went wrong.” Mikey declared, holding his cheek where Gerard had punched him. “You’ve had cameras in your apartment since day one.”

“I’ll kill you!” Gerard screamed, attempting to weasel his way out of Frank’s grip. Frank held him tight, ignoring the sharp pain in his left hand.

“Stop!” Frank yelled into the back of his neck. “It’s over now! What’s done is done.”

Gerard was panting when he finally stopped struggling, wiping the tears from the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. He looked down at Mikey. “Look at me.” He said, out of breath, and Mikey did, looking up at him with sorrowful eyes. “You may not be dead yet…but you’re dead to me.”


	18. Chapter 18

The first time Frank went on a road trip, he freaked out. His mom was driving them down to Louisiana to visit ‘extended family’ she had said; but Frank was not so easily convinced. He had never heard about his ‘cousins’ in Baton Rouge, or his ‘Uncle George’ before a few weeks prior. She said that Uncle George was more of a _close_ friend from before she had met his father, and then Frank understood. 

She packed up the car one sunlit morning, with enough clothes to last at least a week, the sound of the tires on the pavement as they pulled out of the driveway. He was around nine, if he remembered correctly, and at first – he was excited for the change of scenery. But, once they pulled onto the highway and away from the safe haven of their little town, he cried, a twinge of panic growing stronger with each mile they drove. He wept for nearly the entire thirteen-hour drive into Louisiana, and then for another two days after arriving at Uncle George’s condominium.

His Uncle George was nice he thought, if not a little too quick-tempered. More than anything, though, it was his kids that Frank detested – Lauren and Murphy. Murphy was older than Frank, maybe fifteen, and made no attempt to hide the fact that he thought Frank was nothing more than ‘Yankee trash’ as he so kindly put it. Lauren was just a toddler – no older than four, and had apparently no opinion on Frank at all. He didn’t mind Murphy calling him names, or shoving him down the front steps all week, but he reviled how his mother goaded over Lauren the entire trip – telling her about all the things she loved as a little girl and buying her gifts. Lauren wasn’t so special, he supposed, she was just a _girl_. Frank could be a girl, if that’s what his mother wanted. 

When they, finally, arrived back home nine days later, Frank sealed himself in his bedroom, devising a plan. He shaded in his nails with pink magic marker, stole a dress from his mother’s closet and put on the rosiest lipstick he could find in her bureau. When he trotted downstairs, dress hanging loosely off his young shoulders, she admonished him, forcing him to change at once and then scrubbed the lipstick off with the scratchiest towel in the house. She told him _never_ to go through her things, or in her room, and that boys shouldn’t dress like that. He didn’t understand – he just wanted to be what she wanted, he didn’t care how he was dressed. He didn’t care that the dress was scratchy and the red lipstick too sticky on his lips. He wanted to be enough – he wanted to be loved. 

“Frank you okay?” Gerard questioned, concerned, as he threw Mikey’s bag on the backseat next to him. 

Frank snapped out of his memory, clearing his throat and looking over at Gerard. “Yeah, sorry. Lost in thought.” Gerard’s expression was both worried and empathetic. “Is Mikey going to be able to drive?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.” He supposed, observing the injured figure walk out of the warehouse door and towards the car, slumped over. “Maybe I should.”

“I didn’t know you knew how.” 

“Just because I don’t have a car doesn’t mean I can’t drive.” Gerard jeered, unamused. “Why don’t you get up front, Mikey can sit in the back and wallow.” He instructed, shutting the door across from Frank.

Frank got in the passenger seat, leaving the door open so he could faintly hear the interaction between brothers. He couldn’t catch everything, but could make out most instances in which Gerard raised his voice – ‘the keys’, ‘just navigate’, and ‘shut the fuck up and get in the back.’ 

“Here.” Gerard said, throwing a bottle of extra strength ibuprofen into the back seat where Mikey was climbing in slowly. “Take three and have a nap for a while. I’ll wake you up when we get near Philadelphia; you can tell me where to go from there.” Gerard clambered in the driver’s side and slammed the door, his left arm now fidgeting with the seat adjuster.

“I don’t have any water.” Mikey muttered, twisting the cap and shaking out a few of the orange pills.

“I can’t even begin to describe to you just _how much_ I don’t care.” Gerard sighed, irritated, finally getting the seat to rock forward a few inches. “Swallow them dry or suffer.”

Frank made a face and remained quiet. It was harsh, but Mikey deserved it he supposed. And, to be blunt, Gerard had never looked more attractive to Frank than he did right then, while he was making someone miserable – his stringy black hair falling over top of his eyes, brow furrowed and angry. He cringed a bit, trying not to think of how fucked up that was. He blamed it on his own pain. “Let me get some of those.”

Mikey tossed the bottle back up front, Frank pouring out two and swallowing them swiftly without problem. “Your nose hurts.” Gerard said, matter of fact. He sounded sad, and it hit Frank right in the chest again – the pang of hurt.

“Actually it’s my hand that hurts more than anything else.” Frank twisted his left hand into different, painful positions, the fingers swollen and bruised. 

“What happened to your fingers?” Gerard questioned, only just noticing the injury. 

“I broke them.” Frank sighed, pinching them between the palm of his right hand, feeling the ache. “Breaking out of the ropes.”

Gerard exhaled angrily, eyes burning a hole into Mikey’s forehead through the foggy rearview mirror. _”Motherfucker._ he uttered, under his breath. He shifted the car in drive, the brakes jutting it forward with a sputter. “Where did you get this piece of shit? Why aren’t we driving your car?”

“What, you wanted me to kidnap Frank in my own car?” Mikey jeered. “Lifted it from a scrapyard.” 

“Who even _are_ you?” Gerard enquired, genuine disbelief on his face. “I knew you had changed, but seriously, Mikey – kidnapping, stealing, association with some mystery organization that may or may not murder us all…the list goes on.” 

Mikey shrugged, but made a squeaking sound with the motion, overlooking his broken bones. “Since when the hell do you care about what _I_ do, Mr. War Hero.” He derided.

Frank didn’t miss the layers of anger, hurt, and then finally defensiveness that Gerard’s body language went through after Mikey said that. “Let’s change the subject.”

“No, no.” Mikey tittered, pushing dirty hair out of his face. “I don’t _want_ to change the subject. I want to hear more about how much of a degenerate Gerard thinks I am. Far be it from me to defend myself for not doing a good enough job in following in Jesus Christ himself over here. By the way, Mr. Christ, when did you start driving a 1997 Toyota Camry?”

“Enough!” Gerard shrieked, slamming on the breaks. Luckily, they were still in a wooded area, no other cars on the road. “Don’t you dare blame this on me, asshole. I may not be a good person all the time, but this one was all you, Mikey. You made your own choices. You are a grown-ass fucking adult. Act like one.”

It was silent in the car for a while, Gerard breathing heavily, trying to keep his mouth shut still – and Mikey scowling, face pressed up against the window, nose fogging up the glass where he breathed. Frank tried to hide his nerves, leg bouncing as he combed through his thoughts. It was dark, now, the sun setting behind them as they drove. He wasn’t ready for this, whatever it was, and he was sure that he never would be.

He had ran through all of the potential ways he could die in his mind about a thousand times. He reckoned that one day something he had done would come back to haunt him, but not in a way that was so…dramatic. 

“Shhh.” Gerard cooed, and rested his free hand on Frank’s leg. “You can handle this.”

Frank wasn’t so sure, however. “How can I be prepared for something I know nothing about? Like, what if this is a set up? What if someone is going to kill me the second I walk in the door?”

“You can’t think like that.” Gerard said, his eyes switching between the dark road and Frank. “Mikey may be a shitbag, but I’ve known him his whole life – he wasn’t lying when he said you’re important to whoever these people are.”

“But, who the hell are they?” Frank shook his head. “How do they even know who I am?”

“I don’t know. But, we’ll find out when we get there. All we can do is take it one mile at a time.” Gerard shrugged, his fingers finding their way into Frank’s left hand gently, whisper light touch caressing his damaged fingers. “We need to bandage these straight or they’re going to heal all weird.”

“Why bother?” Frank declared, pulling his hand away. “I’m gonna be dead in a few days anyway.” He sulked, laying his head against the back of the seat.

Gerard sighed, returning his hand to the steering wheel. “You can’t think like that, Frank. I’ve never known you to be cynical. You’re not just a murderer…you’ve killed more people than most local serial killers have ever dreamed of.” He said, and boy, if that wasn’t the most outlandish achievement Frank had ever won. “Don’t go into this accepting your death. You have to keep believing that you’re stronger than they are – because you are.”

Frank remembered when Gerard’s therapeutic talks were annoying, but now they only served to pull him back into logical thinking. “Did your therapist teach you that?” He joked, and Gerard looked offended for a moment before shoving at Frank playfully.

“No, asshole. You did.”


	19. Chapter 19

“Where are we?” Frank questioned. He was looking out the window, new dawn sun shining above nothing but grassland. He hadn’t slept much, but managed to take a few short naps throughout the night. He kept waking up with every sputter of the breaks, or creak of the tires hitting a pothole – but that was good, he figured. Time passed slower when he was awake.

“Uh.” Gerard narrowed his brows, checked his phone. “Somewhere near Pittsburgh.” 

“So we’re almost in Ohio.” Frank tried to come to terms with it. “Mikey, how much longer?” He questioned then, both ready to be out of the car and the furthest from ready to face his reality he had likely ever been.

“Don’t hold your breath.” Mikey replied from the backseat. “We’re heading just outside of Pulaski, so it’s another six hours, at least.” Gerard and Frank both groaned in unison. “Where we’re going is a town called Pioneer. Might as well be in Michigan.”

“What can I expect when I get there?” Frank questioned, readjusting in his seat as much as he could. His back hurt, his ass hurt…everything hurt.

“Not much, if I’m being honest.” Mikey cleared his throat and sat forward. “They’ll bring you in a room, by yourself probably, and fill you in. There’s not very many people in the compound. I don’t know what they’re going to tell you – so don’t ask. I’ve never stuck around for one of these things, so I have no idea what they’ll do with Gerard and I while you’re in there.”

“Compound?” Frank asked, brow raised. “This sounds like some Jonestown shit.”

Mikey shrugged. “You’re probably not far off.” 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Michael. Is this a cult?” Gerard sighed, too tired to sound angry. 

“No.” He shook his head, still perched forward on the seat, humming. “More like an organization.”

Gerard bit his bottom lip, holding his tongue. “I can’t fucking wait until you can stop talking in riddles.” 

“Okay, so it’s an organization.” Frank said, thoughtful. “And it’s not Government run.”

Mikey shook his head again. “No, it’s a private organization. But it’s been around for something like a hundred and fifty years.”

“ _A hundred and fifty?_. Gerard questioned, his knuckles gripping at the wheel. Frank placed his broken left hand on his knee to still him.

“Does it have a name?” Frank asked, tone sardonic. He hadn’t meant it to be.

“McGuire Industries.” Mikey said, plainly.

Gerard looked over at Frank, who was just as confused. “That doesn’t even sound like a dangerous, secret organization.” 

“Who’s McGuire?” Frank asked, right after Gerard, and Mikey put his hands up. 

“Give me a minute, damn.” He exhaled. “I’m getting to it.”

Gerard was grimacing again, and Frank kept his hand on his knee, fingers brushing up against his jeans each time he switched from gas to break. He didn’t even mind the pain. “Mikey, we have six hours. We need the cliff notes version. Now.” Gerard said, choosing his words carefully.

“I don’t know who McGuire is. The highest person up I know is my boss.”

“Didn’t you get, like, and employee directory when you started?” Frank questioned, his sarcastic nature retching out of his mouth once again. He turned around to look at Mikey who made an unreadable face, as if Frank was stupid.

“Yeah, Frank.” He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you hear? All secret societies are required to give out employee handbooks at orientation now. Also, every Friday is casual day and once a year we have a company picnic in Six Flags.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a remarkably punchable face?” Frank stated, turning back around. “You don’t need to be a jackass about it.”

“He’s always been a dickhead, but this is a new level.” Gerard sighed.

“Let’s get back on subject.” Frank said, shaking his head. “What is your job, exactly?”

“Collector.” He replied simply. 

“Collector of…” 

“People. Obviously.” 

“I’d really love to know how the job listing for ‘People Collector’ read.” Gerard scoffed. 

“That’s the unofficial title, dumbass.”

“Listen here, you cumstain.” Gerard said, in a surprisingly composed voice. Frank jumped in his seat beside this, just a bit, at Gerard’s manner. “Don’t you have any humility?”

Mikey bit at the inside of his cheek for a minute, solicitous. “Do you think this is easy for me?” He questioned, lines on his forehead on display. 

“No.” Gerard said, his tone calm, still. “I think that this is revenge – subconscious, maybe – but revenge. On me, my choices. I don’t think it’s _easy_ for you, but yet you still do it – because it’s your form of vengeance.” Gerard sighed. “Maybe you didn’t deliberately go into this wanting to hurt me, but it was a possibility – a benefit, and you knew that. You did it anyway. To get back at me, whether it be directly or indirectly.” Mikey shook his head, but Gerard carried on. “Think about it. No matter how this ends up, I lose. I lose you – Frank…” Gerard stopped, taking slow breaths. “I lose the respect I had for you, Mikey, and even if you live – I lose my brother. I already have. Lost you the moment you put me in that apartment, even if I wasn’t aware of it yet.”

The car was quiet again; the only sound the cars around them on the highway.

“I was…” Mikey began after a long while, his eyes purposefully pointed down towards the floor. “…an absolute wreck when you left for boot camp.” He took a pause, collecting his thoughts. “You told me _two weeks_ before you left, and to be honest…I don’t even remember the time between you telling me and when you shipped off.” Frank watched Gerard’s face as Mikey spoke, careful to keep an eye on the road in between glances, in case Gerard swerved off in a fit of anger. “It was so quiet without you there. Everyone was so proud of you. I tried to be – proud, I mean. But I was just angry. Angry that you left me. Angry that you made this decision without me.” 

“But, Mikey I…” Gerard tried, but Mikey cut him off. 

“Let me finish. Please.” His voice was calm, and Gerard nodded. “I know now that how I was feeling was selfish. But, even when you came home, injured, I just couldn’t feel bad for you. I was…glad. Glad that you were home for good. I was glad that you weren’t dead, that you’d live. But, even more than that…I was glad that you were hurting. I wanted you to hurt like I did while you were gone.” Mikey stopped, and Frank thought he heard a sniffle from the backseat. Gerard stayed quiet. 

“Two months before you left, Gerard, I met her.” Gerard swallowed hard, concentrating on the road ahead of him. “I loved her. I loved her with everything I had. She was my only place of comfort when my life was falling apart. I remember the day I got the call so clearly. I was waiting for you, Gerard. I was waiting by the phone, and I answered it. And there was just screaming.” 

Gerard let out a shaky breath, swallowing down the information as best he could. Frank kept his eyes pointed ahead, hand on Gerard’s leg, for fear that if he moved Gerard might crash the car. 

“I was the last call she made, after 911. She knew, somewhere inside, that she wasn’t going to make it. And she called…to say goodbye, I guess. I don’t remember the funeral. I just remember wanting… _needing_ … to be asked if I was okay, but everyone was talking about you. You were all they talked about from the day you left, until the day you came home.” Gerard cringed, shifting in his seat a bit. “I don’t think anyone realized how much I loved her. Since then, I haven’t been the same. I doubt I ever will be. I graduated, went to community college…and I felt nothing. Until, Sarah.” 

“Sarah?” Frank was the first to ask.

“My boss.” Mikey cleared his throat, pushing the sadness from his eyes, and Frank listened intently - curious. “I met Sarah during orientation at college. She was a recruiter that approached me, I figure in her thirties – way out of my league. She had no paperwork, no information, no answers to my questions but the fact that she wanted to talk to _me_ was reason enough. _Of course_ I’ll meet you for a drink, I said. _Of course_ I’ll help you with a project you’re working on, I promised. Before long, I was an official McGuire Industries contract employee, and Sarah had moved on to her next recruit. I was nothing more than a conquest. She said I was a perfect fit, and I was. But not in the way I had hoped.”

“How do you mean?” Frank asked, and Gerard shot him a thankful nod for asking what he could not.

“McGuire is an Irish name, yeah?” Mikey asked, but he seemed as if he already knew the answer. Frank nodded. “They are very culture based; they want members of their own. Sarah thought I would be a perfect fit for the _company_ – not for her. They recruit young, dumb, people. She used her charm as bait.”

“And this wasn’t suspect to you at all?” Frank asked, disbelieving.

“I didn’t know all of this until I signed on. Once I was in a contract and started training, I realized that everyone looked like me. Everyone was… _like_ me. Vulnerable, stupid, no direction in life. I didn’t see Sarah for three months, and once I did she was a completely different person. She only was who she was to get me in the door.” 

Frank thought about it for a moment, trying to pick out the questions he most needed to ask in his limited amount of time. “What job did you think you were signing on for?” He settled on.

“Investigations.” Mikey said, craning his neck back and forth to crack it. “I knew that the company – organization – was secretive, but that was all part of the experience at first. I thought I was going in as part of some entry-level investigative team that helped pin down petty criminals for any myriad of reasons. That was exciting to me. I wanted to be the good guy. I wanted to be a part of something that made the world a better place – like you.” Mikey sighed, gesturing to Gerard. “But, I know now that it was all bullshit. McGuire doesn’t make the world a better place for anyone but themselves, and I am a slave to it.”

Gerard waited a second before speaking, letting the air clear in the cabin. “My time in the Marines certainly didn’t make the world a better place, Mikey.” He sighed, and Mikey looked at him through the rearview mirror, knowingly. “And like you, it was a hard realization that hit me like a mac truck.” He bit at his lip and Frank watched it turn red. “If I could go back in time I would tell you…don’t follow in my footsteps. Don’t even _try_ because nothing – and I mean nothing was for the greater good.” 

Mikey sat back in his seat, averting his eyes again and exhaled. “And in our pursuit of greater things, Gerard, we’re both eternally fucked.” He pushed his nose up against the window again, feeling the vibration and shut his eyes.


	20. Chapter 20

“Pull over here.” 

They drove up to a red brick structure on the very outskirts of Pioneer, in a town called Kunkle. Frank tried not to giggle as they passed the ‘Welcome’ sign, but the lack of sleep was turning his brain into mush, and all he could picture was an uncle with kankles. He couldn’t help himself. Gerard nudged him seriously, as they parked the car, and Frank pushed the thought from his head. The place looked deserted, not another car to be seen in the lot but theirs. They had arrived on schedule – early, really – sometime around five on Sunday night. Mikey insisted it would be best if they all rested for a while before showing up, seeing as Sarah had given Mikey until noon, Frank wasn’t in any rush. 

Gerard went inside to get them a room, while Mikey and Frank stood by the car and attempted to stretch themselves out. “What a shithole.” Frank lamented, as Gerard swung open the sun-faded blue door. There were two beds, both of which looked like they hadn’t had he beddings on them changed in years. Gerard didn’t seem to mind, throwing the car keys on the nightstand that separated the beds, and falling face first into the one furthest from the door. Frank would swear he saw a cloud of dust puff up from the mattress.

“It smells.” Frank said, sitting on the bed next to Gerard with a creak. 

“Yeah, it always smells like that.” Mikey commented, setting his bag down and carefully sitting on the empty bed. 

Frank peeled off his shoes with a groan. “Stay here often?” He questioned, lying backwards next to Gerard, face towards the ceiling. Even the ceiling tiles were dull.

“Almost every time I come up here.” Mikey laid back on the bed cautiously, grimacing as his back straightened out. 

“They don’t have somewhere for you to stay?”

Mikey shook his head, side to side, stopping once he was facing Frank. “I stayed at headquarters during orientation, but otherwise, I stay here.” 

“I’m just glad I’m vertical again.” Gerard murmured, face pressed into the dirty coverlet, sounding half-asleep already.

“Get some rest.” Frank said, tapping Gerard on the back lightly. 

He mumbled something in response, but it was incomprehensible to Frank through the fabric of the beddings. “He wants you to bandage your hand.” Mikey said, eyeing Frank’s confused expression.

“Ah.” He replied, nodding, and stood to walk towards the small closet of a bathroom. “Probably a good idea.” He rummaged through the drawer on the sink, looking for anything he could use to hold his fingers in a straight position. The swelling had gone down a bit with the painkillers he had taken, but the digits were still unquestionably broken. He finally found some q-tips in a small plastic wrapping that he figured would be better than nothing, ripping the cotton tip apart so that they were nothing more than sticks. “Mikey, do you have any tape in that bag?” He questioned, poking his head out of the doorway.

“Mmm?” Mikey mumbled, nearly asleep himself. 

“Tape.” Frank said again, walking back into the room and stopping just before his knees hit Mikey’s feet which were hanging off the bed. He didn’t answer, eyes shut tight.

Frank rolled his eyes and bent down to grab the grey bag. He dug through it looking for tape, material, anything he could tie around the broken fingers. His right hand prodded around the bottom of the bag, pushing through piles of clothes and papers. He felt something heavy in one of the pockets, and Frank could not stop himself before he was unzipping it and pulling out a shiny black pistol. 

He made a thoughtful noise, turning it over in his hands. He double-checked that it was loaded, clicked off, and then back on, the safety, and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans. If he and Gerard were going into unknown territory, he thought it best to have some form of protection. He would protect Mikey, too, if he needed to. Even if only for Gerard’s sake. He wasn’t entirely sure that Mikey wouldn’t betray him at some point, either, and the less weapons Mikey had – and the more Frank did –the better. 

There was nothing helpful in Mikey’s bag aside from the gun, and that was no help at all in fixing his fingers. He pulled one of the – what he hoped was clean – shirts stored in Mikey’s bag, and promptly ripped it into pieces with his right hand and teeth. He haphazardly placed a few of the sticks under his fingers, wrapping them together with pieces of cotton t-shirt. He tied it tight, between his teeth, and attempted to move his fingers around, testing the stiffness. It was good enough, he figured. It would have to be. He quickly discarded of the remaining evidence, tossing the remnants of the t-shirt into the garbage.

Frank laid down next to Gerard, fitting an arm around his waist and pulling in close. No one was awake to see him do it, so he allowed himself to wedge a few inches closer, lying his head in the crook of Gerard’s bent arm. He wasn’t able to sleep at all, but he stayed there for a long while, facing him while his palm brushed lightly on the exposed skin where Gerard’s shirt had ridden up. 

Gerard had made a few humming noises in the hours Frank laid there, but never once moved. Frank’s eyes were heavy by the time the sun came up the next day, but his adrenaline had never been running higher. “Did you sleep?” Gerard questioned, the moment his eyes opened. Frank shook his head no, and Gerard looked disappointed. ”I’m sorry, I passed out so quickly.”

Frank smiled at him. “It’s okay. You had been driving for hours.” 

“Mikey awake?” Gerard asked, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the ball that was his brother on the bed next to him. Frank shook his head again. “I’d better get him up, then.”

Gerard started to shuffle towards the foot of the bed, but Frank held him tighter. “Just wait a few more minutes.” 

Gerard pulled Frank by the waist, folding him up and pulling close to his chest. “We’re going to be fine.” Gerard whispered, into the bend of his neck, fingers tangled in his dirty hair. “You’re going to be fine.” Frank wanted nothing more than to believe him.

He was able to push off leaving the hotel room until the mandatory check out time of eleven, giving them just thirty short minutes to make it the seven miles across Kankle and into Pioneer. Gerard let Mikey drive this time, taking the back seat along with Frank so that he could hold his hand just a little longer. Mikey had to hunch over in the seat, wincing every time he took a turn just a bit too sharply.

They drove up a narrow, winding road until they were stopped at a clearing – a white and yellow entryway fence blocking the road. There was a small code box, worn and silver, that Mikey stretched his arm out to pad in a number. After five or six beeps, the gate lifted, and Mikey drove through. 

The road wound around a bend, about a half mile longer, before they reached a moderately sized square building atop a hill. There were no windows, and only one door that Frank could see. There was another fence, this time a guard standing next to it. 

“Badge?” He asked, stoic. Mikey fingered through his bag on the passenger seat and pulled out a white rectangle, writing on the front that Frank could not see. The guard nodded and lifted the gate, pointing towards the northeast side of the building.

Mikey drove slowly, carefully, up the hill and towards the building, the gears on the car squeaking in protest. When another guard, gesturing for them to get out and follow him stopped the car, no one moved a muscle immediately. Mikey was the first to get out, shutting his door with a soft click and leaning up against it. 

“Why are there two of them?” The guard questioned, reviewing Gerard and Frank who were making their way out of the carriage slowly.

Mikey stumbled for a moment, before his mouth finally opened and made a sound. “Uh, this one is my brother. He’s interested in joining. Sarah asked me to bring him up for a meeting next time I came up.” He pointed towards Gerard who waved shyly.

The guard didn’t seem convinced at first, but he nodded nevertheless, and turned his back towards them. The three of them shadowed him up to the door, where both his and Mikey’s white badges were swiped upon entry. “Arms.” He said, and Mikey’s arms went up into a practiced ‘T’ motion. Gerard followed him after a moment, but Frank hesitated, remembering the pistol he stole from Mikey’s bag in his waistband.

The guard patted down Mikey and then Gerard, and with hesitancy, Frank lifted his arms just enough for the man to poke at his sides – stopping when he got to his hips. He fisted the handle and pulled it away from his flank, the barrel warm from his skin. 

Mikey looked furious when he realized that it was _his_ gun Frank had hidden away in his pants and was now confiscated. The guard stuffed it into his own jacket pocket and winked at Frank. “Our little secret.” He whispered, patting him on the back and ushering the three of them bodily towards the left.

“You wait here.” He said, directing them towards a small area of chairs, what looked suspiciously like a doctor’s office waiting room.

“Thank you.” Mikey replied, plopping himself into a beige armchair nearest the wall. 

“What now?” Gerard questioned, a whisper, once the guard had walked away. 

“We wait here.” Mikey said, leaning forward towards his brother. “Someone will come get us when it’s time.”

Frank watched him doubtfully. “Time for what?” but Mikey just shrugged. 

“Like I said, I don’t ever know what happens once I bring someone here. I always get in and get the hell out.”

Gerard looked over at Frank, whose nails were digging nervously into the cloth fabric of the tan chair. “Can I go with him?”

“Not if you want my story to hold up.” Mikey said, quieter than before. Gerard seemed reluctant, but he nodded.


	21. Chapter 21

“You must be Mr. Iero!” A shrill voice called from down the hall, iron-clad heels tapping at the surface of the tiles. Frank wanted to crawl out of his skin right then, as he turned his head towards the dark hallway where a shadow was growing larger with every step.

She appeared from around the bend of the hallway, long fiery hair in tousled waves framing her thin face. Frank stood, tense in his stance, and nodded. He couldn’t bear to open his mouth. “Please.” She said, smiling. “Don’t look so nervous.” She held out a hand for him to shake, and he did so after an awkward moment of staring at it.

“I’m so delighted to finally meet you. Sarah O'Leary. ” She spoke, gently tugging on his still clasped hand. He walked around the chairs, nearly falling into one of them as he came around to face her. She turned her gaze towards Mikey, who was still sitting. “Who is this?” She questioned, eyes motioning towards Gerard. She was still smiling, but her voice sounded irritated.

Mikey stuttered as he opened his mouth to speak. “My brother.” He cleared his throat, an awkward silence filling the room. “Gerard.” 

“We will talk about this later.” She said, tone severe yet somehow still light. “Please, Frank, come with me.” 

He took a quick look over his shoulder to see Mikey’s eyes had fallen directly on to the floor, while Gerard was staring at Frank – pale. He saw his lips move, for just a moment, and he though he could not hear him, he knew he was telling Frank that it would all be okay. It did nothing to calm his nerves.

Sarah led him wordlessly down the damp chamber, towards an empty row of rooms, heels clacking all the way. There, she unlocked a brown door into a large and dark office, the last room on the left. There was a bulky maple desk in the center of the room, two solid looking chairs in front of it, and she motioned for him to sit. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?” She asked, but Frank just shook his head, dizzied by the whole interaction thus far.

“I’m sure you’re curious as to why we’ve requested you here today.” She stated, sitting behind the large slab of wood. Somehow, Frank felt comforted by the fact that they were separated by something. 

“Yes.” It was the first thing he had spoken to her yet, and she looked pleased by it, rose-colored lips bending into a smile. 

“You harbor talent, Frank.” She said, leaning back into her seat. She crossed her legs, knee poking over the desk. “One of the best I’ve ever seen.” 

Frank swallowed hard, having an idea of what she was alluding to, but hoping that maybe he had an undiscovered penchant for something else that she could be referring.

“You have skill, too – strength. You’ve taken your businesses very seriously.” Sarah looked at him, eyes piercing directly through his skin and stabbing every one of his nerves. She smiled at him again, shaking her head as if deciding something. “I won’t waste your time telling you what you already know.” She uncrossed her legs and sat forward, elbows on the desk. “I have a job offer for you, Frank.” 

He narrowed his eyes, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “A job?”

She nodded. “Your talents will go to good use here. Not to mention, we can pay you far more than that crappy construction job you’re working now.” She waved a hand in the air flippantly.

“I’m happy where I am.” He responded quickly, hoping he could stop the conversation before it truly began. 

“Oh, Frank, sweetie.” She sighed, and she looked genuinely sorrowful. “Are you?” Sarah stood from behind the desk then, walking around it slowly. Frank was frozen in place on the chair. She walked around him, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. He fought the urge to worm away from the touch. “You could have anything you ever desired, Frankie.” The nickname made him want to get sick.

“I have everything I need.” He swallowed and managed to weasel his shoulder away from her pressure.

“Don’t be silly.” She laughed, lightly. She was still behind him, cold hands now combing through his dirty brown hair, he screwed his eyes shut tightly. “You could always have _more_. ” 

He sat there, breathing hard for a moment, before he allowed the courage to bubble up into his esophagus like bile. “No.” He said, pulling away from her grasp and turning around in the chair. “I’m not interested. I don’t want whatever this is; whatever Mikey is – has – I don’t want it.”

She looked at him concernedly, but not entirely shocked. She looked more – disappointed. She cleared her throat and tapped her foot on the tile for a moment before speaking again. “Michael.” She toyed with the name, pausing before going on. “Is a delivery boy.” Frank watched her intently, waiting for her to elaborate. “Not you, Frank. You’re what’s important to this organization.”

“I’m still not interested.” He said, standing, before he could let her go on any longer. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in whatever this creepy cult was, and he just wanted to go home, if he was honest.

“Five hundred thousand.” She said, seriously, the lines in her face suddenly on display. 

“What?” Frank asked, voice coming out dry. 

“Five hundred thousand.” Sarah said it again, plainly. “Your signing bonus. Sign a contract with us; continue doing what it is that you are good at. What do you say? Ten thousand per month thereafter? One hit per month.” She pulled a pen from her blazer pocket, walking back around the desk and rolling it towards Frank. She opened her top drawer, pulling out a slip of paper and sliding it across the wood.

Frank didn’t bother to look at it. “No.” He shook his head, and turned to leave, stopping just shy of the door. “I won’t be your contract killer. No, thank you.” His words sounded harsh, finally, as he found the voice deep in the pit of his stomach. 

“This is the only time I’m going to offer this to you, Mr. Iero. I must insist that you consider it carefully.” 

Franks’ had hovered over the handle of the door, fingers shaking slightly. “I…” He began, stumbling. “Ms. O'Leary, I can’t.” 

"Please, call me Sarah." He heard her get up from the desk again, toes tapping in his direction. She slid up behind him, arms resting on his shoulders. “But, Frankie.” She said, softly, turning him around to face her. He looked up into her eyes, defenses fading. “You’d be wasting such a wonderful gift.” She grazed a hand over his chin, turning his face side to side to review his broken nose. “Did Michael do this to you?”

He nodded, and her expression turned serious. “What a horrible first impression of our mission.” She ran the icy tips of her fingers over the bridge lightly, making him wince. “Don’t worry, dear, whatever he has done to you will be returned to him tenfold.” 

Frank shook his head then. “No. It will heal.” He wasn’t sure why he was protecting Mikey, for Gerard’s sake, most likely. All he knew at that moment was that he didn’t want to be the cause that Mikey wound up dead, or beaten so badly he wished he was. 

Her face softened a bit. “You’re so kind, Frankie.” She spoke, and he could feel her breath on his face. “Please reconsider my offer.” Her body was pressed up against his, back up against the door. He wondered when that happened, when she had pushed so close into him. “Name your price.”

He peered into her eyes, searching, but they were lacking all sincerity and he just couldn’t do it. “No.” It came out as a whisper, and she shoved him impossibly further back into the door roughly.

“Leave.” She commanded harshly, tone changing from wanton and sweet to angry in milliseconds. “Get out!” She shrieked, and Frank did not need to be told again. He swung open the door, slamming it shut on the way through it. He nearly ran down the hallway, towards the beige waiting room where Mikey and Gerard were waiting for him uneasily. 

“Frank!” Gerard huffed out, relief evident on his face. He stood up from his chair, tripping in the same spot Frank had earlier. He grabbed Frank by the waist as soon as he got in front of him, and the touch almost made Frank want to shove him away in automatic response. He melted into it only seconds later though, the familiar warmth of Gerard’s strong arms enveloping him. “What happened in there?” Gerard questioned, still holding him tightly.

“Let’s leave.” Frank said into Gerard’s neck. “Let’s get out of here, please.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Gerard agreed, let him go, and began pushing Frank towards the door. “Come on Mikey.” 

Mikey looked confused, but didn’t question it. The three of them walked as quickly as possible towards the car, getting in it and speeding off without so much as a second look at the building. “My fucking gun.” Mikey realized as he sped down the hill and towards the yellow gate.

“Let it go.” Gerard said, breathing hard. 

Frank was in the back seat, eyes trained on the road ahead. They let Mikey pass through the gate, and Frank groaned out a sigh of relief. “They just let you leave?” Mikey questioned, turning the corner a bit less hurriedly now.

“Yeah. I told her I wasn’t interested.” Frank shrugged, and Gerard turned from the passenger seat to smile at him.

Mikey shook his head from the driver’s seat. “That doesn’t sound right.” 

“I told her I didn’t want to work for them, and she told me to leave.” Frank repeated, wiping at the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. 

“What? That doesn’t…” Mikey stuttered, but Gerard cut him off.

“They let us go, Mikey. Let’s just forget about it.” 

“You don’t understand.” Mikey explained, white knuckles gripping at the steering wheel. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“She offered me, like, a fuck ton of money.” Frank said, cutting Mikey off again and sitting forward. “I said no. She tried to convince me, but I said I didn’t want it.” 

“You just…said _no_. ”

Frank laughed. “Yeah. You can do that, you know.”

Gerard giggled as well, ending with a sigh of relief. “You’re safe. Everyone is safe. Let’s just go home.”

Mikey’s face had turned grey though; dread gnawing at the bottom of his stomach.


	22. Chapter 22

_“Change of plans.” Sarah’s voice was drained and she leaned over the desk, placing her head in her folded arms. “Give them a day or so to get comfortable, but follow them. Do not, under any circumstances, let them see you. Wait for my orders.” _  
__

_“Yes, Ma’am.” He said, standing stiffly in front of her desk.  
_

_She rubbed at her eyes, pushing stray hairs from her face. “Take two men with you. Your choice.” She sighed, resignedly. “I can’t let him get away.”  
_

_The guard nodded in understanding, turning and walking out of her office quietly._

 

 

 

“How much longer?” Gerard groaned from the backseat. “It feels like it’s been forever.”

“We’re almost in Harrisburg.” Frank replied, doing at least twenty over the speed limit. Mikey had switched with him about three hundred miles prior, taking the passenger seat and trembling in it for a while before falling asleep. “About three hours.” They had made it out of Ohio and more than halfway across Pennsylvania in record time, thanks to Frank’s reckless driving. Night had fallen sometime around Pittsburgh, and Frank could feel his eyes getting heavier as the road stretched out impossibly in front of him, but he kept on.

“Thank God.” Gerard said, yawning on the downswing of the words. “This was the worst road trip ever.” Frank would have laughed, if he wasn’t so dreadfully tired. It came out as a drawn out grunt, instead. “Maybe we should stop.” Gerard said, concernedly. “You haven’t slept in like three days.”

Frank shook his head, determined to make it home. “I’ll be fine.”

“I can drive if you’re too tired.” Gerard said, sitting forward to lean on the armrest separating the driver and passenger seats. “I got a little bit of sleep.”

“I’m _fine._ ” Frank snapped; he hadn’t meant it to come out so harshly, and he glanced behind him to see that Gerard seemed unaffected. “Why don’t you have your seatbelt on?” Gerard shrugged off Frank’s tone, sitting back in the seat. He almost never wore it, but he clicked it on nevertheless. “I don’t have any money to stop even if I wanted to.”

“So?” Gerard replied, laying his temple on the window. “I’ll take care of it. Better yet, I’ll make Mikey. He got us into this fucking mess.”

“Just three more hours.” Frank said, decidedly. “And we’ll be home.”

Gerard sighed dejectedly, but stopped pushing the matter. “Alright.”

Two hours and nineteen minutes later, Frank pulled into the apartment complex lot. He had managed to shave three hours off the total drive, weaving in and out of traffic and not once heeding the speed limit. Gerard stopped asking him to slow down once they crossed the border into New Jersey, too anxious to get home, himself. It was almost three in the morning, and they had to shake Mikey awake from where he was curled into a ball on the passenger seat.

“Go home, Mikey.” Gerard said, just before they got to his front door. Mikey stood awkwardly in front of it for a moment, willing his mouth the make words come out of it. In the end, he could only sigh at his brother, and turned to leave. “Wait.” Gerard called, just as he started down the stairs. Mikey turned around, expression hopeful, but Gerard was already halfway in the door. “Keys.” He said; Frank nodded and threw them to Mikey, the mess of keys landing on the top step. He wanted to say sorry, but he had to keep reminding himself that Mikey was the enemy. It was hard to remember when he looked so disheartened.

“That was harsh.” Frank whispered to Gerard once the door was shut behind them.

“Mmm.” Gerard agreed, but didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

Frank watched him for a long moment, looking for any signs of worry in Gerard’s tired face. “Will he be okay?”

“I don’t care either way.” Gerard said plainly, before exhaling in defeat. He slumped up against the apartment door, locking it behind him. “But, yeah. He’ll be fine.” Gerard smiled sadly at Frank and then held out his arms allowing Frank to shuffle into them tiredly. He pulled Frank in by the back of his neck, crushing his upper body up against his chest. “I was so worried about you.”

“I was worried about you, too.” Frank attempted to say, but the words became muffled by Gerard’s shirt. He clasped his hands around Gerard’s back, holding tight, listening to his heartbeat.

“What happened in there?” Gerard asked, brushing Frank’s hair sweetly with his fingers, his grip loosening just enough so that Frank could talk. “What _really_ happened?”

Frank hummed, replaying the meeting in his head. “Honestly, that was almost everything. She offered me money, said I had a gift. I told her I wasn’t interested in being a killer for hire, and she told me to get out.”

“She was angry.” Gerard said, thoughtful. “Did she threaten you?”

“No.” Frank didn’t bother trying to shake his head, his shoulders still being held tight in Gerard’s arms. “She was convincing, though.” Frank was quiet for a moment, shutting his eyes and picturing the scene as if he had been watching it happen, as if he was not the one that was pinned up against a wall. “I kind of understand what Mikey meant when he said she has a way about her.”

Gerard pushed Frank up just a bit, hands falling from his head so that he could lift his chin and look into Gerard’s eyes. “Not you, too.”

Frank laughed and pulled Gerard’s hand back up into his hair where he resumed petting, burying his face back into Gerard’s shoulder. “No, no. I just mean that she is…severe. Something tells me that I was one of, if not the only, person not to take her up on the offer, because she seemed completely blind sighted by it.”

“So.” Gerard sighed. “It’s what we were afraid of. They wanted you to be a hitman, essentially.”

Frank groaned. “Yeah. But, I think I knew that from the beginning. Nothing else about me is all that interesting or talented. What else could a secret organization want with me?”

“You’ve just let this one thing consume your entire life, Frank. You’re more than just that. I can see that.” Gerard pressed a kiss to the top of Franks’ head.

“She had a point, though.” Frank supposed, his tone pensive. Gerard hummed in question. “She said my job is useless, and basically told me I’m wasting my life. My job _is_ crappy, and I’m wasting the one thing I am good at on two-bit hack criminals.”

“So, what does that mean?” Gerard questioned, seriously. “You’re going to ramp up the killings? Become a famous serial killer? Or are you going to seek out more dangerous people? I don’t think that’s the answer.” Gerard prodded on, sounding irritated, and Frank tensed in his arms. Gerard’s fingers didn’t stop moving in his scalp though, and he still held him tight, so he went on.

“No. I just mean that…” He sighed, unsure what he _did_ mean. “I sometimes wish I had spent these years on…something else I guess. Something useful.” Frank repositioned himself in Gerard’s arms, shuffling on his feet to try to still himself from the creeping dread he felt in his gut. “I’ve said it before. I don’t know where to go from here. I can’t just be _done_ , but I realize I can’t be this person forever.”

Gerard didn’t answer for a few moments, scouring through his own feelings. “You can’t change your past, but you can take control of your future. I know that better than anyone.” He replied softly, releasing Frank from his arms. Frank nearly fell back into them, his entire weight now feeling like far too much to bear on his tired feet. “Let’s dissect this tomorrow.” He smiled sadly down at Frank, who took a moment to find his balance and then nodded.

“Okay.”

 

Frank awoke to banging. He startled, sitting up from where he had passed out on Gerard’s bed. He has been tucked in comfortably, warm, under the covers. He shoved them off and on to Gerard who was asleep next to him, body on top of the blankets. Frank wanted to piece that apart, but he didn’t have a moment, the banging sound ringing through the apartment again.

“Gerard.” Frank whispered, urgently. Gerard mumbled something, and turned over, his back to Frank. “Gerard!” Frank hissed, a bit louder this time and shaking the sleepy figure next to him.

“What?” Gerard snapped back, eyes opening just enough to show he was awake. The banging started again, and Gerard’s eyes shot open fully. “What the fuck is that.” He rasped, voice dry.

“I don’t know.” Frank moved hastily, pulling Gerard’s bedroom room open and peeking out. “Stay here.”

“Fuck no.” Gerard shook his head, legs swinging over the bed.

 _“Gerard.”_ Frank said warningly, but he didn’t listen, coming up behind Frank who was now starting to move into the hallway. The pounding rang out again. “It’s coming from the hallway.” Frank said, keeping his body in front of Gerard.

“Is it my door or yours?” Gerard questioned, peeking around Frank’s shoulder. The walked up to the front door slowly, eyes trained on the slit of light coming from underneath the frame.

“I think it’s mine.” Frank pressed his face up against the peephole, looking around. There was a man in a blue uniform banging on Frank’s door. The man looked at his watch irritably, and pounded again. “Fuck, there’s someone there.”

“Wait.” Gerard said, pulling away from Frank. He ran into his filing cabinet nearest the bookshelf, making the entire thing shake. Frank shot him a warning look. “Sorry, sorry. Here…” Gerard pulled open the top drawer and drew out a pistol. He opened and then closed the chamber, spinning it and peering through the viewfinder, Frank watching him aptly. Why was that so _hot_ , he pondered.

Gerard handed the gun to Frank, who held it behind his back as he unlocked the door. “Stay put.” Frank demanded, and this time Gerard listened.

“What do you want?” Frank called through the small crack in the door he had opened.

“Uh.” The man turned towards the next apartment over. “I’m looking for Frank Iero.”

“What for.” Frank said, and it wasn’t so much of a question as it was a command.

“I’m from the electric company…” The man stumbled, seeming confused as to why he was currently being interrogated. “Mr. Iero had an appointment today.”

Frank’s face dropped and he pulled the door open most of the way. He shoved the gun into the back of his waistband and walked tentatively into the hallway. “I’m Frank.” It was _Tuesday_ already Frank realized, and the man must be there to fix Frank’s power.

“I was just about to leave.” The man said, checking his watch again. “Do you know where the problem is?”

“Yeah.” Frank nodded, his heart still racing in his chest. “Yeah, I do. Just give me one second.” He held up a finger, and the man rolled his eyes. “Just a second, please.”

“Who is it?” Gerard whispered. He looked terrified, and Frank took a moment to run his hand on Gerard’s cheek for comfort.

“It’s just the guy from the electric company.” Frank said, and walked back towards the door. “It’s okay. I’m just going to show him where the line is cut.” Gerard let out a long sigh, a bit of color returning to his pale face. He nodded and Frank walked through the door, shutting it behind him.

Gerard kept his body up against the doorframe, listening for the heavy building entrance to swing open when Frank came back through it. It felt like forever, but when Frank did come back up the stairs, Gerard realized it had only been about ten minutes. Gerard peeled himself away from the door, Frank almost opening it into his face. “It was just the electric company?” He questioned, still unsure.

Frank nodded, and locked the door behind him. “Yeah. Here.” He handed the gun back to Gerard who locked it away in the cabinet. “I completely forgot it was Tuesday.”

“Me too.”

“Can we go back to bed?” Frank said small, after a few silent moments, the two of them letting their breathing return to normal. Gerard nodded happily, grabbing Frank’s hand and leading him back towards the bedroom. “I don’t even remember falling asleep last night.” Frank commented as he laid back down.

“You were out as soon as you hit the pillow.” Gerard chuckled, lying back on top of the covers. Frank shook his head and started forcibly pulling the blankets out from underneath Gerard.

“You don’t have to sleep like that.” Frank covered him, pulling the coverlet up to both of their necks. “I can sleep on the couch if you’re uncomfortable.”

Gerard turned on his side to look at Frank, fitting his head into the pillow. “I’m not uncomfortable. Are you?”

Frank just looked at him for a long moment, taking in all of his features. His strong jawbone, porcelain skin, hazel eyes. “No.”

Gerard shuffled closer to Frank, their knees brushing up against one another. Gerard positioned a tentative hand on Frank’s chin, lifting it so that he could kiss his lips lightly – barely a hint of touch. “Still okay?” Gerard questioned once he pulled away, and Frank nodded.

They stayed like that for a while, gentle kisses and whisper light touch. Frank rolled himself on top of Gerard at one point, pulling off both of their shirts, holding his arms by his side so that he could peck brief kisses down his bare chest. His hands, getting bolder, reached down underneath Gerard and started to paw at his pajama pants before realization hit him.

Gerard was blissed out, beneath Frank, and hopelessly under. “Mikey still has cameras in here.” Frank stated quietly, out of breath. His body was tense, but his fingers were still toying with the waistband of Gerard’s pants.

Gerard looked down from where he eyes were beginning to roll back in his head to look at the man in front of him. Frank was perched on his knees, a glimmer of sweat on his brow and hands, shaking, on Gerard’s hips. “I don’t care.” Gerard huffed out, chest rising and falling quickly. “I don’t care. I need you.” Frank thought about it for a moment, swallowing hard. “Please.” Gerard asked, voice small, and that was the end of it for Frank. He laid himself back down on top of Gerard, lips crashing together, far harder than before, and ripping Gerard’s bottoms off, discarding them on the floor next to the bed.


	23. Chapter 23

“Fuck.” Mikey recoiled, bending over carefully to pick up the dropped roll of binding on the bathroom floor. Every movement made his abdomen hurt, every deep breath another buried ache of pain. He continued wrapping tan bandage around his waist, up on top of his chest, and back down. The thick dressing helped keep him solid, steady. With any luck, his ribs would heal and he could move on.

That was the hope, anyway. Mikey knew somewhere deep down that he couldn’t just _move on_. There was no moving on from McGuire. Something told him this wasn’t over, and certainly not as simply as Frank had made it out to be. 

Every searing pain, Mikey felt a pang of anger, but it quickly faded. He knew that he had brought it upon himself, though he would never admit defeat to Frank or his brother. Gerard was right – he had made his bed, he needed to lie in it. Therefore, when three McGuire guards broke down his door late Tuesday night, Mikey was anything but surprised. He had finally gotten comfortable on the couch, the pain in his chest negligible at last, and he could not be bothered to stand to their attention.

“Get up.” One of them barked, and Mikey just sighed, pushing himself up and off the couch slowly. They were far less gentle with him than he would have preferred, pushing him out the door and down the gravel driveway crudely. There was a black sedan waiting for him on the street, exhaust fumes puffing out the back of it.

Mikey knew better than to ask questions or to try to call for help. He deserved to give up, he figured. He had made a mess of his life thus far, and though he was bitter, if he tried hard enough he could see through his own anguish. As he was shoved into the back seat of the vehicle – unbound, but they knew, he wouldn’t try to escape – he wondered how it had come to this.

After Elyssa had died, all Mikey wanted to do was call Gerard and tell him what had happened – bawl his eyes out over the phone. His mother kept telling him not to bother Gerard, that he was busy trying to keep himself safe, and that he couldn’t be Mikey’s soft place to fall forever. And she was right. Mikey was eighteen, plenty old enough to handle adult issues on his own, without the comfort of his older brother telling him it would be alright.

At some point, his sadness turned into resentment. That’s when he stopped answering Gerard’s weekly calls, convinced that if he wanted to talk to him, he could come back from halfway across the world, even if he knew that wasn’t fair. By the time Gerard _did_ come home, he was hurt, and Mikey no longer wanted to talk about Elyssa. He wanted to forget her. Wanted to forget how she had screamed his name, crushed in the crumpled vehicle. Mikey also knew it was her own fault, somewhere deep in his mind. She was drunk, driving way too fast and lost control of the car. Still, the phone call haunted him. She hadn’t deserved to die. 

In the end, Mikey never did tell Gerard about her, not even that she had, at one time, existed. Three and a half years later was too little too late for his comfort, and Mikey had already joined McGuire – determined to make something of himself, even if in spite. 

They took Mikey to a hotel on the outskirts of Belleville, a holding place he figured, until they went to collect Gerard and Frank. He wanted to warn them, but he wasn’t even sure if they would listen. Why would they? Mikey was on the enemy side, and Gerard wanted nothing to do with him. After a half an hour of sitting on one of the hard hotel room chairs, being watched closely by three muscled men, Mikey started to look for a way to do try anyway.

The men had taken all personal items from Mikey, the first being his cell phone, of course. He knew one of them had put it in his pocket, but he wasn’t entirely sure which. He shut his eyes, trying to remember which of the black-clad men had frisked him. He remembered a tall man with blue eyes, but nothing more, those being the only thing visible through the thick company-issued masks. 

“Can I get some water?” Mikey asked, lightly coughing, what he hoped was convincing. There were no cups in the room, only the bathroom sink, and though Mikey knew they were cruel he didn’t think they would make him attempt to drink directly from the bathroom faucet. The three of them looked at each other, silently fighting over who would be the one to leave the room and purchase a bottle for their captor. The shortest of the three got up with a shake of his head, shutting the door roughly behind him. 

“I have to go to the bathroom.” Mikey said, then. The remaining two looked at each other again, irritated. 

“So go.” The one on the right said, shrugging. 

“No.” The one on the left commented. “There’s a window in there.” Mikey watched the two of them piece together their options. “You go with him.” He was clearly the one in charge. 

Mikey tried to get a good look at the man that stood and led him to the bathroom, but it was hard to tell from behind him if it was the one he needed to get alone. Once he was in the room, the guard shut the door with a soft click, and Mikey chanced a good look at him. He was tall, taller than he was, but the man was looking everywhere but in his direction, not wanting to watch Mikey use the bathroom. He unzipped his pants as a distraction, watching as the man turned around to let Mikey do his business. 

This was his only opportunity – he just hoped it was the right one. A thirty-three percent chance, that’s all he had. Quietly, he took the step and a half up behind him, skinny arms wrapping around the guards neck. His feet kicked at the door, warning the other guard just outside it, but Mikey slipped a hand down to lock it, keeping his arms tight around his neck. 

The man struggled, his coughing and sputtering only drowned out by the banging and yelling outside the bathroom door. The man’s eyes started to roll back into his head, body weakening, and Mikey kept his grip tight. “Open this fucking door!” The other guard shouted, doorframe shaking as he threw his body up against it.

Mikey knew the door wouldn’t hold long, the wood where the hinges was already splitting. He patted down the now unconscious man’s sides, looking for his own phone, the guard’s phone – anything he could use to get a message to Gerard. Just when he thought he had patted down every pocket he felt it, the familiar brick in a jacket pocket. It wasn’t Mikey’s phone, but it was a phone and that was enough.

He had to think about it for a moment, backing away from the door so he could concentrate. He hoped the cataleptic weight of the body lying against it would help it hold for just a little longer. He typed in the number quickly, as soon as it came back to him – Gerard had the same number since high school, the only hiatus when he was in Iran. 

“Gerard, it’s Mikey. They’re coming. Run.” It was short, but Gerard would understand. The door broke open just as Mikey pressed send, and he slammed the phone on the ground with a crash, shattering it. The guard pulled his peer through the door with little care, pushing him out of the way so he could grab Mikey. 

“Trying to get out the window?” He shouted, pulling Mikey by the collar of his shirt. He hadn’t even considered it; he knew that they would have tailed him immediately, and likely just ended it all there. Then, Gerard and Frank would have no idea that anyone was coming for them. It hadn’t been worth risking anyway, he decided. He was thrust onto the carpet, the front door opening and then slamming shut – the third guard looking on in confusion. The man above him wasted no time bashing his face in with a booted foot, Mikey feeling the bones in his eye socket crack with each blow. He laid there and took it, only able to wonder if Gerard had heeded his message. With one final blow to the head, Mikey was out cold, bleeding on the hotel room floor.

 

Frank and Gerard were lying beside each other, just staring at the ceiling, drinking it all in. They had spent the entirety of the day in bed, the adrenaline that had been stored in their systems for days pressed upon each other, rough and punishing. Gerard looked high, his eyes half way shut and chest still rising and falling with each deep breath. Frank ran a finger over his sternum, watching as pinprick goosebumps covered Gerard’s arms. 

It had started sweet and slow, once Frank determined that Gerard was ready for it. It quickly became frantic and passionate, with brutal movements, hair pulling and unending desire. Frank was nervous initially, too obstinate to tell Gerard that he would be his first - male, anyway - and he overcompensated by using every trick he knew – rolling his hips, gentle, and sometimes not so gentle, brush of his teeth on Gerard’s skin. He was fairly certain that Gerard could see right through him, that he was so nervous he felt nauseas for the first ten minutes of preparation, but he didn’t seem to care. Instead, Gerard kept telling him exactly where to go and what to do, guiding him without ever letting on that he was aware of Frank’s inexperience.

Just as Frank pressed his fingertips on Gerard’s hip bone, feeling the older man shudder with the touch, Gerard’s phone rang and he grunted. “If that’s Mikey I’m gonna kill ‘em.” Gerard drawled out, eyes fluttering closed. Frank lightened his touch, pressing a kiss to Gerard’s cheek. 

“You should probably check it, make sure he’s okay.” Frank admitted, watching as Gerard rolled over an inch to pluck his phone up off the floor. Gerard stared at it for a moment, the words on the screen gibberish and foreign. Frank grew concerned with each second that passed, and after he gently said Gerard’s name and received no reaction, he pulled the phone from his hands and read it for himself.

“What do we do?” Gerard murmured, eyes still placed forward as Frank took in the message. He considered it for a moment, measured its legitimacy. There was only one way to find out, and that was to stay. However, if there was any possibility that they were coming for him – for both of them – Frank needed to get somewhere safe. 

He shoved the covers off himself and Gerard, grabbing the scraps of clothing he could and throwing them at the other man, too terrified to be ashamed in his own nudity. “We run.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler; you know the deal.

“Where are we going?” Gerard questioned, his feet planted flatly on the seat and knees pulled up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them, fingers pulling at the fabric of his jeans.

“I don’t know.” Frank shook his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He sounded frantic, and that alone was enough to make Gerard uneasy. Frank was generally levelheaded, even when in danger, but his voice was laced in a cloud of fear. They had grabbed anything they could; clothes, phones, any food that was canned or bagged, Gerard’s gun and all of Frank’s various weaponry – just in case. Gerard leaned forward, placing his head into his knees. “Put your seatbelt on.” 

Gerard stayed still for a moment, and Frank waited quietly. He eventually pushed his legs back down and pulled the belt over his torso. “You think that was definitely Mikey, right?” Gerard questioned, and Frank could tell he was mulling over the thought of it having been a ploy. He had wondered that himself as they were packing the car, but the risk of it not being a set up was too great. 

“You tell me.” Frank said, looking over at him. “Did it seem like Mikey?” Frank took a sharp turn, pulled off of the main road and into a wooded area.

“It sounded like the Mikey _I_ knew, sure. _My_ Mikey would warn us, any way he could, but I don’t know him anymore.” Gerard sighed and rested his temple on the window. “I don’t know him at all.”

“Have you tried calling him?” Frank asked, as they pulled down the dark forested road. Frank knew the passage, knew it was isolated and quiet. He recognized the fields, the marsh where he forced a man to light himself on fire. He tried not to think about it as he passed by, the new day sun rising just behind the trees.

Gerard nodded, looking down at his phone. “Yeah. Tried the number he texted from, too. Both go straight to voicemail.” He clicked the number again, watching as it rang…rang…and then nothing. He shut it off again with a sigh.

Frank put a hand out and Gerard instinctively grabbed it, grasping it tightly. “We have to get somewhere they wouldn’t look.” Gerard did not reply to that, he didn’t know how. He had nothing but dread on his mind. “We should toss our phones.” Frank said then, decidedly. 

“But what about Mikey?” Gerard asked, looking over at Frank. He looked terrified, eyes tired and afraid, and it simply broke Frank’s heart. 

“We can’t help him, or ourselves, if they can track us. And I know for certain that they can, and will, track us.” Frank sighed. “Besides, I don’t think he’s going to call back…if he, you know, if he hasn’t yet.” Frank had let the thought cross his mind once or twice – that Mikey was already dead. He wouldn’t dare speak a word of it to Gerard, though, who despite having told Mikey only days earlier that he was dead to him, wouldn’t accept it in reality so easily. Gerard would be inconsolable, that much was clear. 

Gerard wiped at his eyes, forcing away the tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks. “Yeah.” He clutched at his phone hard for a moment, knuckles turning white. “Okay.” 

 

 

Mikey had been in and out of consciousness, waking for scarce minutes here and there only to feel the burning throb of pain in his skull, and then pass back out. He heard arguing most of the times he came to – sometimes loud, sometimes hushed, but eventually it was just silent. He couldn’t remember quite how he had gotten wherever he was, but he knew he wasn’t safe. He could get through the thought for a moment, just to fall back into unconsciousness as his brain put it together. 

When he finally woke for the last time, something in his mind snapping and forcing him out of his insentience, the room was quiet. He had to peel his face off of the red shag carpet, skin sticking to it and dried gore flaking off his skin. Had he been able to distinguish the copious amount of blood from the rug, he likely would have fainted again. The events started to come back to him then, in shards of glass memories. How he was taken to the hotel, knocked out a guard and stole a cellphone, and then been beaten for it. He sat up slowly, the room around him spinning as he uncurled. He could feel the swelling in his face – puffed out and bruised. He only had vision from the right side, and his lips felt like they would not part to speak even if he tried. The room was empty, though, he was alone – and that was the only thing Mikey really cared about.

His shirt was saturated in dried blood, the material folding up and crunching as he moved to pick himself off the floor. Something ivory fell from his chest as he stood, joining two other red marred ivory bits, and it took him a moment of staring at it, where it had fallen on the carpet to realize it was a tooth – his _teeth_. He sauntered towards the bathroom, purposely keeping his line of sight away from the mirror. He peeled off his shirt and threw it in the wastebasket next to the toilet, pulling a white towel from the bar above it on his way towards the sink. 

Mikey filled the basin with cool water, sinking his face into it instead of the towel, holding his breath as the water began to turn orange and then red, unable to decide if he wanted to clean himself, or drown. His lungs made the decision for him, forcing his head back up after a few breathless moments; inhaling a sharp lungful of air once he pulled his face from the water fully. It was a dark red now – as if it had been only filled with blood, as if Mikey were to touch it, it would be sticky and thick. 

He watched it undulate down the drain, a rim of red at the top of the vessel and rubbed at his face with the towel. He only stopped rubbing when the pain became too much to continue, even though he could still see red wiping off on the cloth. His poked at his face, fingers pushing into the distended flesh until he winced. He could feel the left side of his face was wholly smashed, his chin protruding to the right awkwardly. His left eye socket sunken in and inflated shut. He tried to drive it from his mind, ignoring the pain, only because he could feel his consciousness starting to fade if he put too much thought into what he must look like.

He didn’t know if, or when, the guards would be back and so he did the only thing he could – made a break for it. He threw himself out the door to the room, only to be met with new day sunlight. How long had it been? He knew only that he had been brought there in the middle of the night, and if it had been just a few hours or complete days, he really was not sure. He ran as quickly as he could through the empty parking lot and towards the road. He kept running, through the brush across the street and clear into the woods. He ran until his lungs screamed in protest, his legs stinging and his stomach heaving with emptiness. 

He collapsed into a pile of leaves and sticks, mud covering his knees. His hands grasped at the ground, barely able to hold himself up. His throat palpitated, dry heaving until bile and blood poured out of his mouth and onto the grass. He stayed like that as long as he could, until there was nothing left in his stomach and his arms were so weak he had no choice but to let go – collapsing on the foliage. 

When he regained what little strength he had, he began crawling. He crawled because it is all he could force his body to do, all he could bear. He crawled because the sun would be setting at some point – some time, and he had to be out of the forest, as far away from that hotel as possible. He chastised himself for not reading the name of it, trying to remember any landmarks, but it was all a blur.

He crawled until he came to a clearing, a mudded marsh that was surrounded by a dirt road. The sun was still shining bright, beating on his naked back, and he could feel it burning. He stopped there, breathing heavy and legs planted in the wet sod. He had to calculate his next move, his options. It was then he realized, that he had none. He had no phone, no weapons, only half of his clothing and a severely beaten face that would scare off any potential help he might have the ability to beacon. He was completely, and utterly _fucked_. He had to rest, if he wanted to survive. Mikey wasn’t a smart man, but that much he knew. He had to rest. 

He pulled himself over to a dry patch of dirt, in the middle of the empty field. He laid in it, on his back towards the sky. He watched the clouds for a while, trying to dissociate from his pain. Eventually, he fell asleep, lost the battle with consciousness again – half dressed and alone in a cornfield.


	25. Chapter 25

“We’ll stop here.” Frank said, unquestionably. He pulled off to the side of the road, about thirty miles south of Belleville. He had circled the marsh twice, not so much searching as he was ensuring that it would be safe. He needed to be positive, without a doubt, that there was no one living in the area – that there was no signal reaching them. Though they hadn’t gone far, the trip took them five hours, just for want of some place definitively safe.

“I thought you’d never stop the car.” Gerard said, tiredly. “But maybe we should keep going.” He shrugged, puling the seatbelt away from his neck and rubbing at it. “You know? Don’t you think we’d be safer the further away we are?”

Frank shook his head. “No.” He drove the car slowly through the sod, back on to dry grass, and back into wet turf again. “That’s what they’ll expect. They’re going to assume we took off, as far as possible.” Frank pulled the car behind as much foliage as he could, the tires beginning to spin in the mud in protest. Frank cursed, and the car moved again, jutting back up on to solid ground and behind a row of oak trees. “We stay here for a few hours, rest. Destroy the phones. If they’ve already started tracking us, they’ll think we haven’t left yet. There’s no signal out here for miles. But, if by some chance they’re using technology that doesn’t rely on cell towers, we’ll stay a step ahead of them.” 

“Well, if that’s the case.” Gerard started, turning to face Frank. “Why destroy them? Let them track us out here, if they can, and by the time they find the location we’ll be gone to the next place.” 

Frank pondered it for a moment, before grinning slyly at Gerard. “That…is an excellent idea.” 

“Yeah, well...” Gerard shrugged, refusing to return the cheeky smile. “I’ve been conditioned to make logical decisions in illogical environments.”

Frank bent over, fidgeting with the seat adjuster before it flung him backwards, horizontal. “Come ‘ere.” He held his arms out, and Gerard non-too-gingerly climbed over the armrests to lay on his chest. “We’re going to be fine.” Frank pulled Gerard closer, fingers digging into tense muscles on his back. 

“You don’t know that.” Gerard replied wretchedly, his head buried into the crook between Frank’s shoulder and the seat. 

Frank disagreed, outwardly shaking his head and pushing into Gerard’s back where a knot was forming, a sharp inhale coming from the other man. “Sure I do. We’ve both taken on bigger, more dangerous things. We can handle this.” 

Gerard inhaled again, less forcefully this time, as Frank worked at the knot in his back. “But I always knew what I was fighting. In the Marines, I had one objective – kill the enemy. No matter the mission, whether it be a rescue, a takeover, moving into hostile territory – the goal may have changed, but the process remained the same. Kill the enemy, and you win.” 

Frank hummed, trying to calm Gerard down as he made pained noises in his arms. “But that’s still the objective. We kill the enemy, we win.”

“Exactly.” Gerard pushed off Frank, sitting up, head bowed as it hit the roof of the cabin. “You know the extreme I resorted to in order to get out of the military. I can’t…I _cannot_ be back in this situation. I can’t do this again.” Gerard started breathing heavy, the interior of the car wrung dry of oxygen as he panicked. Frank shushed him, running his hands up Gerard’s arms.

He hadn’t thought of it that way, Frank realized. Hadn’t understood how parallel this was for Gerard until this very moment, and it was breaking him. “Then you leave it to me. I will handle this. You don’t have to fight anyone; you just need to keep yourself safe. Keep me company.” He said firmly, his hands finding Gerard’s and tugging on them, trying to get him to lay back down, but he stayed solid in his spot. The words were nice, but they were irrational, Frank knew that. 

“I can’t leave it all to you, Frank. You’re strong, I know…but.” He glanced out the window, attempting to gather his thoughts, looking towards the line of trees where the sun was beginning to set behind them. His mouth stopped, hung open as his eyes narrowed and breathing began to pick up again. “Frank…” He hissed, his gaze unmoving.

Frank looked over, heart dropping when he saw a figure on all fours making its way slowly through the trees. It was only early dusk, but the dense forest made the dark fill the area quicker, the only visible thing being shadows until you were out of the shrubs. Both men stayed silent as the figure crept – crawled – through the trees about fifty feet ahead of them. 

“Just stay quiet.” Frank commanded, and Gerard had no trouble heeding his words. They both watched the man pass in front of them, unable to make out anything other than his shape. “I don’t think he sees us.”

Gerard made a small whine, high in his throat, as the man passed through slowly. “What the fuck…” Gerard started, hushed, but Frank covered his mouth before he was able to finish his thought.

“Shhh. Don’t freak out.” Frank narrowed his eyes, watching as the bestial figure exited the line of trees, into the sun and the expanse of field. It was clearly a man, and that seemed to relieve a bit of tension from Gerard’s shoulders, but something about it was intensely creepy. 

“It’s a person.” Gerard whispered, through Frank’s hand. Frank released him and he repeated himself. “It’s a man.”

The man led himself towards the center of the field, sitting up on his knees to reveal a shirtless, bloody back, and looking towards the sky before dropping backwards. “I…I think he’s hurt.” Frank said, placing a hand on the door. “He’s definitely injured.”

Gerard grabbed him, pulling him back from whatever ridiculous thought he had. “Don’t.” He hit the lock button, keeping Frank inside. “What if it’s a set up?” 

“What if it’s not?” Frank questioned, eyes still set on the area of grassland that the man had disappeared into. 

“Even if it isn’t, we aren’t in a position to help anyone right now…” Gerard shook his head, turning around in all directions, searching for any sign of danger that might lurk around them. “We should leave.”

Frank nodded, and let Gerard take the passenger seat again. “We’ll leave.” He agreed. “But I think we should go past him. I can’t just drive away never knowing if I just let someone die in front of us like this.” 

“No!” Gerard nearly shouted, startling Frank. “We have to go!” He had his hands clenched into fists, fingers digging into his palms. “What happened to the cold blooded murderer? You can’t let someone die?” He yelled, manic. “ _Fuck_ that guy!”

Frank huffed out a sigh of disbelief, unsure if what he was hearing was actually Gerard. He knew he was stressed, near his breaking point, but he hadn’t realized Gerard was so indignant – and about someone else’s life, no less. “Gerard, I may be a cold blooded killer, as you so nicely put it; but that may be an innocent person. I can’t just…pretend I never saw them.” 

“Innocent?” Gerard questioned defiantly. “Every person you’ve ever killed had a family, Frank.” He spat. “There’s no such thing as innocent –good and bad. Every single fucking person is expendable. The only goal in life is to keep _yourself fucking alive_!” He hissed at Frank, expression a terrifying mixture of paleness and fury, his shoulders heaving with each shaky breath.

“No…no. That’s not true.” Frank started, trying to keep his voice calm. “You’re not this person, Gerard. This isn’t you talking, it’s your past.” 

Gerard shook his head and some of the anger released from his face. “I don’t…I can’t…” 

“Don’t think. Just stay with me.” Frank cooed, chancing a hand on Gerard’s chin. “Stay quiet, and let me handle it. Okay?” 

Gerard remained silent, and Frank assumed it was the most acceptance he was going to receive from the other man. He turned the ignition, setting the car back in drive and pulling off slowly. The ground cracked underneath them, sticks and rocks breaking beneath the tires. Frank rolled slowly towards the clearing, adjacent the area that they last saw the man. 

“There.” Frank said after a moment, slowing the car down even further. On the right side of the clearing, nearest Frank, was a dip in the grass where a body lay. It was still too far away to make out its features, but Frank could tell that whoever it was had been harshly maimed.

“I don’t feel good about this.” Gerard whispered, breaking Frank’s only rule. Frank stopped the car and took one last glance at him, knowingly, and then opened the door. 

“If something happens…” Frank began, swallowing hard, once he had exited the car. “I want you to drive away – take off, and don’t stop.” Gerard immediately protested, his head shaking in defiance. “Listen to me, Gerard. If something happens, you are to _drive away_. Do you understand me?” Gerard took a moment, realizing that there was no convincing Frank otherwise, and nodded. 

Frank shut the door with a soft click, feet moving cautiously towards the body. The grass sopped underneath him, each step another wet squelch under his shoes. He reached the body and couldn’t bring himself to look down for an instant, only doing so after he had pushed the bile that rose in his throat back down into his stomach. 

There were splotches of blood all littering the man’s torso, pink stains still covering his face that looked as though they had been crudely rubbed away. His face alone was badly beaten, a canvas of blues, blacks and yellows littering his skin. Frank bent down, heart thrumming in his chest, to place a hand on his chest. He was cold, but his lungs were still heaving up and down lowly, short intakes and exhales of breath coming from his throat. He ever so gently placed a hand on his face, turning it towards him. It took a few introspective moments for his brain to make the connection, but he dropped to his knees once recognition took over.

“Oh my God.” Frank said, something between and shriek and a whisper. “Gerard!” He screamed. “He needs help! Gerard!” Gerard heard Frank’s screams from the passenger seat, and he hesitated before opening the door and getting out. He saw Frank sit up enough to show him that he wasn’t hurt or being attacked, and only then, did he begin to rush over.

“Hurry!” Frank screamed, something in his voice frightening Gerard impossibly further. Gerard reached him in seconds, but Frank was already attempting to pick the unconscious body off the ground. It didn’t take Gerard the same long few moments to recognize Mikey as it had taken Frank. Even beaten and bruised, he knew it was him as soon as he looked down. He made no attempt to stop the tears as he lifted the front half of Mikey, Frank leading with his legs, quickly carrying him to the car and placing him in the backseat. 

“He’s dying.” Gerard cried, crawling into the backseat with his brother. “Fuck, oh fuck. Frank, he’s dying.” Frank wanted to protest, wanted to comfort Gerard but he wasn’t entirely convinced that Mikey _wasn’t_ dying. He certainly looked like he was dying. 

He said nothing, wrapping his arms around Gerard’s torso where he was bent over the injured brother. He held Gerard close as he attempted to make sense of the injuries – too many to focus on. Gerard just sobbed, hands running aimlessly over Mikey’s body, searching, pleading with him to wake up.


	26. Chapter 26

“Grab his shoulders.” Frank grunted, deftly pulling Mikey’s limp lower half from the backseat. Gerard was shaking, his own shoulders wavering as he pulled Mikey’s torso up against his chest and lifted. The street was gloomy, only half of the streetlamps lit, and not another car or person to be seen on the block. They stepped over black debris and yellow caution tape as they carried Mikey towards an empty grey townhome; the top half charred and burned out. “Be careful. I don’t know if these steps are very steady.” Frank commented, leading backwards up them two at a time towards the front door. 

Frank threw himself bodily into the door, wood cracking and finally snapping as it smacked open, a puff of ash blowing out and catching in his throat. “Basement.” He muttered, through his coughs, and began shoving open doors until he found the stairs to the basement; Mikey’s legs clutched tightly under one arm. They carried Mikey slowly down concrete steps and into the cellar, what seemed to be one of only few rooms not charred. The fire had started two rows over, where Emil set ablaze a fuse box, and spread west – scorching everything above the top floor of five unfinished townhouses almost two months ago. 

They laid Mikey down gently on the cold, unfinished, floor in the middle of the room, covered by shadows. “If we’re going to stay here for a bit, I should get some supplies.” Frank supposed, watching as Gerard got down on his knees to sit overtop his brother, his hands clenched into fists. Gerard just hummed in response, difficult to see in the dark, but seemingly unmoving. “Will you be okay here?”

Gerard nodded, though Frank couldn’t see it. “Yeah. We’ll be fine.”

Frank nodded and exhaled. “Take this.” He pulled Gerard’s pistol from his waistband where it had been tucked since the cornfield. Gerard made no motion to grab it, so he laid it next to him on the concrete, the metal reverberating as he dropped it. “I’ll be quick. No more than a half an hour.” Frank pecked a kiss to Gerard’s cheek and darted back up the stairs and out of the home. 

The car smelled of thick iron, a sickening mix of blood and sweat. Frank took a moment to breathe, the window down, before he started the car, trying to clear his head and build up his defenses – just in case. He stopped at the first open store he came across, a twenty-four hour pharmacy. He didn’t have more than a few hundred dollars, and he was sure he’d probably use almost every penny. 

Frank grabbed an armful of cheap, scratchy, blankets and a few travel pillows and shoved them into a cart for search of medical supplies. He piled every package of gauze the store carried, two bottles of rubbing alcohol and the largest first aid kit they carried. Three bottles of ibuprofen, two Tylenol, one Advil. A three-gallon jug of water, two bags of chips, three cases of protein shakes and five bags of beef jerky. Fifteen small jar candles and two lighters, two flashlights. He quickly needed a second cart, dashing through the store as he piled the things in – the lone clerk near the register eyeing him suspiciously. 

“Going camping?” She asked cheekily, as she began to ring up Frank’s haul. 

“Yeah.” Frank murmured, digging for the cash in his wallet. She didn’t push it farther, but even Frank could tell she knew it wasn’t true. 

The car was packed to the brim, the trunk already full from the supplies they had taken with them, and now the backseats overrun with plastic bags. He pulled back into the drive, fitting his sedan behind the debris so it was nearly hidden, with ten minutes to spare from his promised thirty, grabbing every bag he could under his arms and busting through the door again. 

“Incoming!” He yelled, throwing the soft blankets and pillows down the stairs. He could see Gerard’s shadow move towards the bottom, pulling them into the room and towards where Mikey was laying. “I think we should be good for a bit.” Frank commented, out of breath, as he came down the stairs, bags draped over his arms.

“That’s good.” Gerard said, but his voice sounded hollow. 

Frank made a sympathetic face, though Gerard wasn’t paying attention to him. “Let’s get him cleaned up.” He said, and led Gerard back over to Mikey. “These will help.” He pulled a few of the candles from their bags, lighting them and placing them in the corners of the small room, a low glow filling the cellar. “I got everything I could think of.” Frank said as he rustled through the bags; Gerard was listening but the words weren’t sinking in.

“I didn’t mean it.” Gerard said, small, as Frank began to pull the plastic wrapping off the first aid kit.

“Wh…” Frank began, but Gerard cut him off with a whine.

“That Mikey was _dead_ to me. I was just angry. I don’t want him to die.” He sounded as if he was on the verge of tears. Frank put the kit down onto the ground and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him in close to his chest.

“I know that.” Frank breathed into Gerard’s ear. “He knows that.” 

“I killed him.” Gerard sobbed lightly. 

“No, no.” Frank cooed, rubbing his arms. “You were upset – and rightfully so. You had nothing to do with whatever happened to him.” Gerard quieted a bit, letting Frank release him and return to fingering through the first aid kit. “Here.” He held out a package of sterile padding and a bottle of alcohol. “I hope I got the right stuff. You know injuries better than I do.” 

Gerard nodded, taking the items from Frank. “This is fine.” He poured a bit of the alcohol on a piece of padding and knelt over Mikey, dabbing it lightly on the welts covering his face. “This will only do so much, though.” He muttered, almost to himself.

“I can go back.” Frank said, already prepared to walk back out the door. 

“No.” He shook his head, thoughtful. “It’s the injuries we can’t see that are going to kill him.” Gerard sighed sadly, patting at Mikey’s face, pulling another cotton pad out and wiping at his neck. “They told us about these things called coup countercoup injuries in boot camp. When they were going over the uniform and helmets and shit. It’s when your head gets hit so hard your brain moves around in your head and swells.” Gerard turned Mikey’s face gently, still working on cleaning the injuries. “His face will heal. But his brain…it might not.”

Frank inhaled sharply, both relieved that Gerard seemed to be snapping out of his shock, and truly terrified for him. Mikey may have been what got them into this, but Frank knew that if it hadn’t been Mikey who tracked him down and kidnapped him, it just would have been someone else they’d sent to do the job. And besides, if he cared for Gerard, he had an obligation to care about Mikey – even if he was technically the enemy. “What do we do?”

“Nothing we can do.” Gerard shrugged, sitting back on his heels and inspecting Mikey’s skin for any remaining blood or lacerations. “In the hospital they slice the top of the skull off so the brain can swell and heal itself. We don’t really have that option.”

“We can still take him to a hospital.” Frank said, sitting down next to Gerard and looking over Mikey’s battered form. He cringed at how poorly Mikey looked. He was nearly unrecognizable. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the mop of blonde hair and pale skin, Frank may never have realized it was him at all.

Gerard shook his head and pushed into Franks shoulder, shuffling closer. “No. It will be a direct line for them to get to us. Mikey wouldn’t want that. If he’s going to live…he’s going to have to fight for it.” 

“When do you think he’ll wake up?” Frank questioned, reaching over to pull a blanket from one of the bags. He unfolded it and draped it over Mikey, tucking it under his bare arms. 

Gerard shrugged again. “ _If_ he wakes up.” He sighed. “It could be hours – or days. Or he may never wake up.” 

“And when he does?” Frank asked, making sure to say _when_ instead of _if_ , even if only for Gerard’s sanity. 

“He could be fine – remember everything, just be missing some time. On the other hand, he could be different…not himself. I don’t know how badly his brain is damaged. Even if I did, I’m not a doctor. All I know is that he’s breathing, which means he’s alive. He’s in there somewhere.”

“All we can do is wait?” Frank questioned, biting at his lip.

“Pretty much. Wait, and hope he wakes up before someone tracks us down.” He yawned, the events of the past twenty-four hours weighing heavily on Gerard. Frank pulled another blanket from the bags and unraveled it, wrapping it around both of their backs. 

“Then we’ll wait.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay.

_“I thought you said you _had_ them?” Sarah shrieked, voice cracking from frustration. The man didn’t answer – knew there was no point. Sarah was only going to scream over his words, anyway. “You said you had tracked them to a forest, did you not?”_

_He nodded neatly, a small ‘yes, ma’am’ squeaking out, high in his throat._

_“It’s been _three days_ , you absolute imbecile.” She spat. “They could be half way across the world by now!” She had demanded that the three men to return to Ohio after days of searching for Mikey, Frank and Gerard without finding any trace of them. _

_He raised his head a bit and opened his mouth to speak, waiting for Sarah to finally look up at him with question. “We do believe Michael to be deceased.”_

_She chewed at her lip for a moment, brooding, before walking around the wooden desk to where he was standing. “You think…” She began, almost a whisper, and placed an arm on his shoulder, toying lightly with the hair on the back of his head. “That I give a _fuck_ about a collector? That I couldn’t replace him in a moment?” Her voice was still unnervingly calm, a finger now running down the back of the guards’ neck._

_“N…no.” He stuttered, chills prickling through his skin. “I just, thought that…” Sarah lurched forward, lengthy, sharp nails digging into his cheeks as she straightened his gaze on hers._

_“What?” She hissed, face mere inches away. “You thought what?”_

_He swallowed hard, trying to push away the feeling of her nails digging into his flesh. “I don’t know.”_

_Sarah released him with a brutal shove and he stumbled backwards, into the door. He took a moment to right himself and to catch his breath while Sarah returned to her place behind the desk and straightened out her skirt. She pulled her chair forward and sat down, elbows resting neatly in her lap for a moment before she snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the door opened and the guard was being hauled backwards through it._

_“Wait!” He yelled, as he was being drug through the threshold. “Wait, Ma’am, please! Ms. O’Leary!”_

_She held up a finger signaling the heavy hands that were gripping the nameless guard to still for just a moment. She walked over to where he was being held; sweat dripping down his brow in fear. “Sweetie, I’ve told you to please call me Sarah.” She said sweetly, her thumb wiping at the tear that had started to fall down his cheek. “Reset him.”_

_“No, please!” He screamed, and the figure behind him began pulling again, dragging him through the doorway and down the hall. “Please!”_

_Sarah sighed, ignoring the pleading screams as they fell farther and farther away from her ears. She sat down again roughly, pulling a brass key from her skirt pocket. She unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk, empty aside from a small book. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands for a moment before setting it back down on the desk hesitantly and flipping through the pages._

__

__

_She inhaled sharply, sliding over her phone from where it had been resting near the corner, and tapped through it for a number. As she turned through the pages of the book, stopping when she reached an article near the middle, a scratchy voice answered on the other line._

__

__

_“This better be important.” He said sleepily, a thick Irish accent present in his voice. “It’s nearly three in the mornin’ 'ere.”_

__

__

_“Daddy.” She said softly, and the voice on the other end sighed. “Daddy, you know I keep a close eye on all of my men, right?” Her voice was small, unsure._

__

__

_“Yes, darlin'.” He replied, but did not sound amused._

__

__

_“We’ve lost sight of an agent. I don’t know how it happened…he was here…” She lifted a hand to her mouth, teeth biting at her perfectly manicured fingernails. He didn’t react immediately, the only sound shuffling on the other end of the phone. “Daddy?”_

__

__

_“I’m thinkin'.” He said, sounding slightly more awake. “Your brothers 'ave 'alf of the problems you 'ave down there, wouldn't you know?” He hissed – she didn’t answer, waiting for him to continue. “I’ll catch the first flight out. I want every piece of information you 'ave on this man ready fahr me when I arrive. Do ya' understand me, Sorcha?”_

__

__

_“Yes, daddy.” She said, fingers trembling as she hovered over the ‘end call’ button. He grumbled for another moment, indistinguishable words, before hanging up the phone and leaving Sarah anxious and angry._

__

__

 

“Gerard, wake up.” Frank said softly, shaking his shoulders. Gerard was curled up in a corner of the damp basement, blankets pulled up to his neck. “Gerard.”

“What?” He muttered finally, pulling away from Frank.

“Listen.” 

Mikey was making noise again, small whines and something that sounded suspiciously like words stuck somewhere deep in his chest, struggling to break free. “Has he been doing that long?” Gerard asked, and Frank shook his head. 

“Just a few minutes so far, like last time.” Mikey had started moving about a day earlier, tiny wails accompanied by a twitching of the fingers or toes. “This is a good sign, right?”

Gerard pulled the blanket off and kneed over to where Mikey was lying on the opposite side of the room. His face was less swollen today, but the color was possibly even more black and blue as the bruising presented itself and began to heal. His left eye was deformed, still completely shut and sunken in, and Gerard wondered if he would have any sight in it at all, if he woke up. 

“I think so.” Gerard replied, lightly touching Mikey’s face and turning it side to side, so that he could review the injuries. “Mikey, can you hear me?” He questioned, as he had done every day for the past three days. “Mikes?” He didn’t respond, but Gerard would swear that he felt Mikey’s hand twitch at his side when he asked. “He seems to be moving around more today.”

Mikey’s shoulders jerked a bit and Gerard covered them with the blanket. “Here.” Frank handed Gerard the now almost empty jug of water and stood up to walk to the back of where Mikey was laid. Gerard moved around to lift Mikey by the torso, Frank sliding around back of him so that his unconscious body was halfway sitting, back pressed up against Frank. Gerard poured what was no more than a few tablespoons of water into Mikey’s half-open mouth, his hand coming around to hold his chin and watch as his throat finally opened up and swallowed.

They continued this for a few minutes, Frank’s hold on Mikey changing as Gerard needed, in order to lift his head so that he would not choke. “That’s enough, Gerard said finally, and Frank slowly let Mikey down back onto the ground.

They sat there for a bit, waiting to see if Mikey’s noises would begin again, but he seemed to have fallen back into total oblivion. Gerard sighed and kneeled back over to where he had been sleeping – the corner of the room where he and Frank had set up a pile of blankets and travel pillows. 

They spent most of their time lying there, in the corner, and watching Mikey or sleeping curled up against one another under the low glow of candles. But when they were not laying together, Gerard was sitting next to his brother, keeping an eye on his breathing and talking to him. Telling him stories, saying his name and asking questions – hoping, Frank assumed, that one of these days he would answer him. 

“We should leave here within the next day or so.” Frank uttered, into the silence. Gerard just sighed.

“We have to? They haven’t found us here yet…I don’t want to move him.” He kept his eyes focused on Mikey. 

Frank nodded and let the suggestion hang in the air for a while before continuing. “They’ll track us down here eventually. We have to keep moving.” He looked around the room, at the mess they had made of it. Trash, burnt out candles, soft blankets and clothes littering every surface of the floor. “It’s not safe here for much longer.”

Gerard knew that, somewhere in his gut – that they would have to get back on the road and further off of McGuire’s trail, but the thought of moving Mikey was painful. What if he got worse? What if he stopped making those promising noises once they shoved him in the back of Frank’s already packed car and drove him…wherever. He seemed to be getting better here, in the cellar, and Gerard was afraid to risk it, even if he knew that wasn’t exactly a logical argument. Either Mikey would recover, or he would not, and the basement had no bearing on that. 

“He’ll be okay.” Frank said, as if able to read Gerard’s mind. “It won’t be for long, we’ll find somewhere else to rest for a few more days.” 

“How long will we have to do this?” Gerard questioned, his eyes narrowed in something that looked like deliberation. “We can’t live like this forever. On the run.”

Frank hadn’t really thought about that, if he was honest. He was short term – keeping them safe in the here and now. Frank had never exactly planned a future to begin with – assuming that someday, probably not far off, he would be killed by someone he attempted to take down. In fact, he never saw himself as a person who would run from something like this. He had never been afraid of death – he welcomed it. But, with Gerard in the picture…something had changed. “We won’t. Do this forever, I mean.” He wanted to reassure Gerard, really, he did – but he had no plan. He had no real alternatives that would back up the claim that they _wouldn’t_ be on the run forever. 

“I don’t think they’re the type to just give up.” Gerard replied. 

“No. But, once we rest and Mikey gets better, we’ll have more options.” 

Gerard turned to him and sighed. “I think that, despite…despite all of this…” Gerard fumbled over his words, body and mind drained. “I’m still glad I met you.”

Frank smiled sadly at him. “I’m sorry that you’re involved in all of this. If I had known…”

Gerard cut him off, his thoughts short. “You couldn’t have known. The only person who knew how this could play out is Mikey.”

“Do you think _he_ knew things would turn out like this?”

“If I know him at all, and I’m not sure I do if I’m being honest, I don’t think he put that much thought into it. Mikey is a one-track kind of guy. He’s rash – always had been. He was always the shy, hasty kid and I guess he never really changed.” Gerard readjusted how he was sitting on the hard concrete, turning a bit to face Frank. “There are just so many things I wish I could tell him – you know, admit to him...”

Frank watched Gerard’s expression change from hopeful to pained in a moment, the two candles that remained lighting up his face just enough to make out a shadow of his features. “It’s not too late.” 

“What if he can’t hear me?” Gerard asked, hit with a sudden realization. “What if he _can_?” 

“He’ll understand.” 

Gerard shook his head, but turned to face Mikey nonetheless and just breathed for a few long moments. “Mikes…” He tucked the blanket under his arms, watching as Mikey’s head rolled from side to side almost lifelessly. “I got some stuff I gotta tell you…and I don’t know if you can hear me, but, you need to know…”

Frank quietly excused himself back to the corner of the room, blanketing himself and watched the brothers with his head against the wall. He could just barely make out Gerard’s words, as he told Mikey about his time in the Marines. Watched as he held back the tears that Frank knew were threatening to fall as he recounted the day when he shot himself, just to get back home.


	28. Chapter 28

It was the full story Frank hadn’t yet heard, but had secretly wanted to since Gerard first let Frank into the dark place where he hid his insecurities. Gerard took his time explaining to Mikey – and in some indirect way, to Frank – his reasoning and his emotions during that time of his life. Nothing about it was easy, that much was obvious, but it was more than just a little bit convoluted. There were so many facets to Gerard that Frank hadn’t considered until this moment. He wasn’t just a veteran, who despite denying it, most likely was suffering from PTSD, he was in some ways still that insecure and unaware nineteen year old who thought joining the Marine’s would straighten him out, both literally and figuratively. 

Gerard was older than Frank, by only a few years, but he had spent five years fighting a war he didn’t agree with, killing people that he wasn’t emotionally prepared to kill, and plotting a way just to get back to his family. Ultimately, he made a choice that nearly cost him his life. Sure, he had fared much better than one would have anticipated, the Military having no knowledge of his actual departure from the Marines, but deep down Gerard hadn’t really let it go. Frank didn’t know how he ever could.

If Mikey were awake, Frank wondered how he would react. Assumedly, in any normal situation Mikey would be angry, and quite understandably confused. Frank hoped he wouldn’t be angry. Gerard had made his mistakes, and so had he. The two brothers were more alike than either of them wanted to acknowledge, Frank gathered, and frankly – Mikey didn’t have a right to be angry any longer. Perhaps Mikey wasn’t the enemy Frank had thought him to be, maybe he was just a bit lost. 

Gerard seemed to be more relaxed when he walked back over to where Frank was sitting in the corner. He had been trying not to focus on Gerard’s words, but it was hard when there were no other distractions in the room. “Well?” Gerard questioned when he sat down next to Frank, a bit of color returning to his face.

“Mmm?” Frank questioned, a humming noise. 

“Well do you hate me?” Gerard asked, and it was almost comical because _of course_ Frank didn’t hate him.

“Of course I don’t hate you.”

Gerard smiled at him, knowingly. “That’s good.”

Frank sat up a bit straighter, facing him. “You did what you had to do.” He shrugged.

Gerard shook his head, disagreeing. “No.” His fingers started pulling at the loose threads on the hem of his shirt. “It was cowardly.”

Frank thought about that for a moment, pondering over the question of what cowardly really was. It was subjective, he determined. “I don’t think it was cowardly.”

“It was.” Gerard said plainly. “I should have toughed it out, for my squadron.” 

Frank had not thought of them at all, how they must have reacted to one of their own being ambushed and having to deal with the aftermath. “I hadn’t thought of it.”

“I didn’t either.” Gerard pulled a long string of thread from his shirt, dropping it on the concrete. “I was consumed with the idea of getting out any way I could, I didn’t think of how it would affect my team. I should have kept fighting with them – for them.” He sighed, chewing at his lip and turning the skin red. “But…I’m not that person anymore. I’m not a coward.”

“You’re not.” Frank confirmed, placing a hand on Gerard’s knee. “Look how far we’ve come. You’ve come.”

“I think the reason I still haven’t been able to really let go of those years is because I’ve dealt with the trauma of war, and of battle, but I haven’t acknowledged the trauma I caused myself. And I certainly haven’t dealt with the guilt of how it affected the people around me.” Gerard looked contemplative, determined. “My therapist says that in order to reflect on our past, we have to look inside ourselves.”

“Your guilt was buried beneath everything else.” Frank said, putting the pieces together.

Gerard nodded in agreement. “Now that I’ve…retched it all back up. I can piece through it, I guess.” He swallowed hard, but not in the way Frank was used to seeing it – as if he was swallowing the bile of his feelings. “It’s kind of a freeing feeling.”

“You’re a good person, Gerard.” Frank smiled reticently. Something in his gut feeling black, as if Gerard was this clean, purified, and whole presence who was able to lay his problems out on a table and arrange them neatly into the puzzle that was his being, and Frank was just a shell of a person, a piece of him ripped away with each dirty deed done.

“No.” Gerard said it quickly, clearly. “No, I’m not. And that’s alright.” Frank viewed him inquisitively, confused. “I’m a selfish person. I’m a man who has done a terrible thing, but all I can do is accept myself for what I am. I spent so many years thinking I was undeserving of happiness because of what I did and what I was a part of. I’m not a good person, but I’m not a bad person either.” Frank still did not understand, his brow pushed together and concerned. “I’m just who I am.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Frank uttered, small. 

“You deserve happiness too, Frank.” Gerard said it as if it were a fact, an unquestionable truth, that Frank – the murderer – deserved happiness, love, a future. 

“I gave up on that a long time ago.” Frank said resignedly, not really having any idea as to when that may have been – but he knew that, before a few months ago, Frank hadn’t felt happy in a very long time. His life was nothing more than a sequence of automatic motions – working, killing, sleeping. And then Gerard lunged into his life and made him laugh for the first time since he could remember. 

“You didn’t have to.” Gerard said, honestly. “And it’s not too late to find your own happiness.” 

“How do I let myself be happy considering everything I’ve done?”

“You said it yourself that you’ve only killed people that deserved it.” Gerard replied, shrugging. 

“Right.” Frank sighed.

“Then make yourself a promise.” Gerard said, after a moment or two of thoughtful contemplation. “If we survive all of…this.” Gerard gestured wildly, towards Mikey, and Frank smiled. “Be done with it. No more murders. Move on.”

“It’s going to be hard.” Frank said, his fingers tapping on the ground. “I also don’t have a job anymore.” He rolled his eyes, knowing that when he returned home – if he returned home – there would be questions. “There’s no way Vic would take me back after all of this shit.”

“Then this is a fresh start.” Gerard said, as if it were so easy. 

“We don’t even know if we’ll ever make it home.” Frank replied, but Gerard just shrugged. 

“Then your fresh start will be wherever we end up. Maybe a different state. Or a different country.” Across the room, Mikey moved just a bit, and Gerard kept a close eye on him, before turning back to Frank. “Wherever we find safety.”

Frank let it be silent for a few minutes, making feeble attempt at imagining a future without the only plane of his personality omitted. His entire life revolved around murder – his home, his job, his apartment. Even how he dressed, was done so purposefully to make himself stand out as little as possible. If Frank was anything to the naked eye, it was mild. He didn’t know how to appear, or be, anything else. Mikey began making soft whining noises, and his attention snapped back to him.

“That’s twice today.” Gerard changed the subject, sensing that Frank needed some time to mull over the idea. “I hate to move him.” 

Frank made a sad expression, considering. “We really do have to get moving. Tomorrow, during the night, would be the best, I figured.”

Gerard nodded, understanding. “I know. I do. He’ll be alright, I’m just scared.” Frank squeezed his knee, trying to radiate comfort, and Gerard smiled forlornly.

“Do you think he’s in pain?” Frank asked, concerned. 

“No, he’s unconscious. He shouldn’t be able to feel anything. When he wakes up – if, he wakes up – he will be, though.” Mikey continued to whine lowly, his fingertips twitching next to his sides. 

“His eye.” Frank said, cringing.

“Yeah.” Gerard sighed. “They broke his eye socket and the bones around it, whatever they’re called. I don’t know if he’ll be able to see out of it.”

“You should be a doctor.” Frank said, honestly, and out of nowhere. Gerard laughed. “Seriously, you seem to be really knowledgeable about this stuff. I might not be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“You _wouldn’t_ be here if it wasn’t for me, Frank.” Gerard said between sniggers. “You absolutely would have bled out.” 

“See.” Frank rebutted. “This is what I mean, you know your shit.” 

Gerard shook his head, still smiling. “Nah. I have no desire to be a doctor. I only know medical shit because of the Marines. It was never a skill I learned willfully.” Mikey’s whining seemed to be a bit louder, deepening sounds coming from his throat as opposed to the light whisper of a moan he had been making for the past two days.

“It’s a good thing to know, anyway.”

“True.” Gerard sat back, his back against the wall. “C’mere.” He said, his arms opening up for Frank to fall into them.

Frank placed his head on Gerard’s chest shutting his eyes and letting his body relax, even if just for a moment. There was little time or comfort to relax in this space, knowing that McGuire could be right behind the door, but Frank couldn’t help himself when Gerard’s arms were holding him tightly.

He had pressed himself into Gerard’s arms, and before he was aware of it, his mouth was opening and words were coming out. “I love you.” He admitted, no louder than a whisper and only audible to Gerard as Mikey’s deep groans gained more gusto. 

“What?” Gerard questioned, lowly, and something in Frank’s mind snapped back to reality – grasping his unexpected slip of the tongue.

“I…” He stumbled, unable – un-wanting – to deny what he had said. It was true; Frank had realized it days, weeks even, earlier; but finding it impossible to replicate. 

Gerard observed his face for a moment, below him, embarrassed and small. “Frank, I love you t…” He replied with earnest, his words cut short as Mikey’s groans cut off with a final, brutal growl, the room falling silent once again.

Gerard and Frank sat there, waiting, worried, when Mikey’s voice, scratchy from underuse, rang through the basement, finally.

“Gerard?”


	29. Chapter 29

“Holy shit.” Gerard stammered, clambering to get to the middle of the room. Frank let himself be thrust away and off to the side, Gerard shooting him an apologetic look as they both hurried towards the body lying on the ground.

“Water.” Mikey murmured, his voice weak and grated. Gerard didn’t move for at least a few beats, unable to fathom if this was really happening. Mikey coughed a bit, and Gerard’s mind was brought back into the room.

“Yeah….yeah, of course.” Gerard huffed out, scrambling, searching for the jug of water.

“I got it.” Frank said with a pant, reaching for the almost empty gallon. He held it out for Gerard to take, tipping it towards Mikey.

“Can you sit up?” Gerard questioned, watching as Mikey struggled to grab the container from him. “Let Frank help you.”

Frank scurried round behind Mikey, lifting his shoulders deftly until he was sitting upright. Gerard held the jug up to Mikey’s desiccated lips, allowing him to guide the water into his mouth, swallowing until it was empty. Gerard threw it to the side, making a face when the plastic rebounded off the wall and bounced on the floor. It was the last of their water, but Mikey didn’t need to know that yet.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” Gerard asked almost immediately; as Frank was lowering him gently back on to the ground. Mikey turned a bit, as much as he could, lying half way on his side so that he was facing Gerard.

“Back.” Mikey mumbled, wincing as he attempted to get comfortable on the concrete floor.

“Your back.” Gerard confirmed, and Mikey nodded slightly. Gerard lifted the back of his shirt, leaning over Mikey to review it for any injuries. “Looks okay. I think it’s from the ground being hard.” Meanwhile, Frank was dumping out pills into his hand – three ibuprofen and two Tylenol, handing them to Gerard who held a single pill in front of Mikey’s mouth. “Open.”

Mikey obliged, taking an orange pill into his mouth. “Chew it.” Gerard declared, the expression on his face sympathetic. “It will work faster.” Mikey looked unhappy, but he began to grind his teeth into the tablet anyway. Gerard repeated it four more times, Mikey’s face turning more and more sour with each dose.

“For the taste.” Frank held out a nearly empty bag of beef jerky, a few small pieces sitting in the bottom. Mikey took it gratefully, pouring the crumbs into his palm and then into his mouth – still dry with powder.

“Thank God you’re awake.” Gerard said after a moment, taking the now empty bag from Mikey. He threw it towards the empty water jug.

“I thought I was dead.” Mikey stated, voice a bit more clear. His eyes were glassy, as if he hadn’t slept for days, and he looked disordered – dazed.

“So did we.” Frank replied, across from Gerard and behind Mikey, almost jokingly. Mikey was scanning the room, reviewing his surroundings and trying to piece together how he had gotten there. He couldn’t remember anything past the hotel room – past running.

“How did you find me?” He questioned then, a bit of realization dawning on him. “I…I remember sending you a message, but not much after that…” He stuttered, shutting his eyes tightly and trying to replay the events in his head.

“You found us, really.” Gerard said, shrugging. “You kind of freaked us out – Me out.” Gerard sighed, recalling how he had fought with Frank to leave him there, remorse burning in his rib cage. “It’s Frank who realized it was you.”

Frank frowned knowingly at him, clearly distressed. Frank had not brought up the subject of Gerard’s unwillingness to help, and for that, he had been grateful. “I almost didn’t recognize you.” He couldn’t help but cringe.

Mikey exhaled deeply, readjusting his head on the pillow. “Thanks for, you know, looking after me. I was really worried that you wouldn’t get my text.” It wasn’t a complete lie – Mikey was almost certain he remembered Gerard’s number right, he had been far more worried that they wouldn’t listen. Gerard smiled at him and patted his shoulder, no other words spoken on the matter.

“So, what is this place?” Mikey questioned into the silence eventually, Gerard snapping his focus back to Mikey.

“A basement.” Frank replied for him. “Somewhere safe. But…” Frank paused – there was always a ‘but’ – we’re moving tomorrow. We’ve been here too long already.”

Gerard seemed worried again, and Mikey took notice. “Gerard?” He tried to make his expression look sympathetic, but his face wouldn’t cooperate, the painful swelling and bruising making it unbearable.

Gerard nodded, a smile on his face that was anything but genuine. “Just anxious…about everything.”

“It’ll be okay.” Frank said softly from across the room. “We’ll be safer if we keep moving.”

“I guess.” Gerard supposed, but Frank knew that it was his way of admitting acceptance, even if he was uncomfortable with it.

“So, a safe-house.” Mikey nodded lightly, agreeing. “How long have we been here?” Mikey questioned, attempting to piece together the past few days he wasn’t even aware he had missed.

“Since Tuesday night, a few hours after your text.” Said Frank, rubbing at his face, fatigued. “We left almost as soon as you warned us. We were holed up in the car, near the marsh on the west side of Belleville, and then…”

Mikey was quiet for a moment, understanding. He decided to ignore any specifics about how they had found him, at least for the moment. “And today is…” He asked finally, unable to figure.

“Saturday, I think.” Gerard sighed, unsure of how much time had passed, himself.

“Saturday.” Frank confirmed with a nod.

Mikey was quiet again, the only sounds his labored breathing and Frank shuffling, folding up the extra blankets that had been piled in a lump, for want of something to do with his hands.

“You should rest; get ready for the move tomorrow.” Gerard declared, pulling Mikey’s blanket up to his chin and tucking it under gently. Mikey nodded, already drowsy again.

Gerard watched him for a while, making sure that he was asleep, touching his arm lightly to ensure he groaned and swatted him away – unlike when he was unconscious. “He’s just sleeping, Gerard.” Frank regarded him, concerned.

“I know.” Gerard said, but Frank wasn’t sure if he fully believed it. “I know.”

Gerard didn’t sleep at all, spending the majority of the next twenty four hours curled in a tight knit ball, folded into a blanket, and in between where Frank was lying and the center of the room, near Mikey. Something inside him didn’t sit right after Mikey woke up, and he had a dreadful feeling that it was a touch shy of disappointment.

Not disappointment that Mikey had woken up and was now on the other side of the metaphorical bridge between life and death, per se, but maybe a trace of disappointment that even though he was awake and alive, he still wasn’t the Mikey Gerard truly wanted for. In the recesses of Gerard’s mind, he had begged that maybe Mikey would have had the last seven or eight years knocked from his brain and that they could start over again.

But, the same Mikey that had joined a secret organization, captured Frank, and nearly got them all killed was the one that woke up – and _that’s_ what Gerard was truly disappointed about. Gerard was coming to terms with the fact that he had made poor decisions in the past, and that he was anything but a good man – but it was harder to accept, from an outside perspective, that someone he loved was just as, if not more, tainted than he was. How could he accept this person? How could he love him? Before, Gerard was simply angry. Wrathful and prepared to cut off his own blood for the things that he had done, however, as he came to terms with his own wrongdoings, he felt he had to come to terms with Mikey’s, as well – and he wasn’t sure that he had the emotional capability, or maturity, to do so.

 

 

_“It’s good to see you.” Sarah commented, as her father thrust his carry-on into her arms. She retorted her head to the side, swinging the stray hairs away from her face as she shifted the duffle bag so it hung over her shoulder. “How have you been?”_

_He didn’t answer her straight away, instead pulling out and checking his phone, multiple alarms and dings sounding as he came into, and back out of, service through the airport. “This is a business visit, Sorcha.” He reprimanded, and she sighed._

_“Of course.” Her heels clacking as she followed him through the halls and towards the exit, a black SUV waiting for them. She momentarily expected him to hold the door for her, but she thought better of it and stepped around behind him. She climbed into the backseat after him, setting the duffle bag in between. “I was just saying, is all.”_

_“Mmm.” He muttered, focused on his phone now that his service wasn’t cutting in and out. She sighed, and nodded, signaling for the driver to pull off._

_“How’s Molly?” She questioned, uncomfortable, crossing and uncrossing her legs._

_“Divorced.” He replied plainly, not looking up from the screen._

_“Ah.” She exhaled, not much surprised. Molly was her father’s fifth wife, married what was – for her father – a long time ago. None of his wives were around longer than four or five years, and if Sarah was doing the math correctly, Molly’s marriage to him was just passed four._

_“And ya?” He said slyly, after a moment._

_She looked offended, head recoiling to look over at him. “What about me?”_

_He didn’t look amused, the same permanent frown adorning his face – though slightly more grey and sagging – as always. “I assume ya 'aven’t married yet.”_

_“I would have told you if I had, daddy.” She scoffed. “Besides, I’m far too busy running my division.”_

_“Sorcha.” He began, musing, and set the phone down in his lap. “I would much rather see ya settle down with a family than foehckin up ma business any longer. You’re already far past prime, you’d be pressed to fend a man without children at yer age.” His voice was cold, but it always had been that way. It cut Sarah deep nevertheless._

_“I give my life to this establishment.” She snapped, eyes narrowing in her father’s direction. “And it isn’t your place to tell me when I should, and should not, choose to marry. Poppop would be proud of me, and he would be pleased that I’m running a division.” She held her chin up higher, falsifying confidence, and he shook his head._

_“Perhaps.” He said, emotionless. “That is the only reason you have a division, Sorcha. The problem is, 'e – while he may 'ave helped to create this empire, was nahthin more than a foolish old slag.”_

_“How dare you!” She barked, voice reverberating through the cabin of the car. She had been the apple of his eye since the moment she had been born – the first girl in generations, and she was determined to hold her own in a sea of male fragility, just as he would have wanted._

_“Settle down, Sorcha.” He jeered, waving a hand in her direction. “You women always 'ave to 'ave an episode before the night is through, dahn't ya?” He mocked her, and she felt near ready to cry as they pulled up to the gated building._

_“Why can’t you ever just call me Sarah?” She asked lowly, instead of pushing the matter. She’d asked before, but perhaps this time the answer would be different._

_“Christ, I jus' got off a nine hour flight with two layovers, ya' have to bother me with this now? I dahn't 'ave a care for your Americanized name, Sorcha. Sarah's the name of a whore.” He said it so lithely, as if she wasn’t even his own flesh and blood._

_She chose to drop the conversation completely then, allowing him to lead while she followed behind with his bag into and through the compound. She locked herself in her office shortly after he retreated to his own – a large corner suite that was empty always, for his once every three year visits; it remained locked the other 1,095 days in between._

_For an old, haggard man, Sarah knew he still had a good bit of fight left in him, and she briefly wondered if it was even worth it to bring him here at all. Perhaps she was becoming a tired old woman, as he insinuated, at thirty six, she had never married – and never had a plan to._

_She spent countless hours, days, years – building her own division from the ground up, with little help from her father, hoping that one day he would feel for her what he felt for her brothers. But, seventeen years later, and his opinion of her had only deteriorated impossibly further._

_One chance – she presumed, to make an impression on him – and it was gone. The agent she had been tracking, watching, for years – the whole time knowing, that he would be the one to take her father’s words right out of his stupid mouth, had denied her the opportunity._

_Frank was the prize, he had to be obtained, controlled. No other agent Sarah had recruited, killed, or otherwise were quite as skilled or had performed at the level Frank did. Frank was intended to be the flagship of her division, putting her in even contest with the four brothers. Come wrath or fury, Sarah decided – as she wept at her desk, Frank would be found, and should he not comply, she would torture him – personally. She would kill everyone he had ever known or loved, and destroy every fragment of his being, until he did._


	30. Chapter 30

The air was thick with a fog, as if Frank had been trapped in a sauna that had been set on fire, the temperature rising out of control. He couldn’t make out anything in front of him other than darkness, impermeable blackness that seemed to stretch out for miles. He continued crawling, on his knees, only able to breathe low to the ground as the steam and smoke rose above his head. It felt like hours he had been creeping towards nothing, the expanse of blackness never-ending. He couldn’t take it any longer, his limbs giving out and collapsing, face pressed against the ground. 

The sweat was pouring from his skin, salty drips falling in front of his lips and nose making it hopelessly impossible to wheeze even short breaths. This was what death felt like, he supposed, though the thought was fleeting. It was unmanageable to have a complete thought in this place, the heat too excruciating. Suddenly, he was falling – the swooping feeling in his stomach making him nauseas. He felt the unmistakable feeling of vomit creeping up his esophagus, only made tolerable by the wind of the fall finally cooling his skin – and then he landed. 

The drop was hard, his chest hitting the earth with a smack, a long, drawn out groan coming from Frank’s lips. All of the breath had been rung from his lungs and he struggled for air, his arms flailing at his sides as he gasped. The atmosphere had been utterly purged of oxygen, and no matter how hard Frank strained to breathe in, he could not fill his lungs. With the transient strength he had left, he let out a sob, his eyes shutting softly. 

“Shhh.” A voice was impossibly close, female, sounding almost as if it was in Frank’s own head. “Shhh.” She cooed, again. He didn’t have the power to answer, arms falling still next to him as he choked. There were hands on his back, rubbing lightly in his shoulder blades. “Look at me.” The voice was ethereal, surrounding every inch of Frank’s flesh with tiny pinpricks of reverberation, echoing throughout his body as if it came from within him. “Look at me, Frank.” 

He opened his eyes, but was unable to lift his head to see the figure in front of him. As he struggled for breath, the figure, basked in red was kneeling down towards him. His vision was blurry, sweat having fallen into his eyes and he couldn’t see anything but rough contours in front of him. She sat cross-legged at his front, opposite his wet face and seemed to blow something in his direction, a wind hitting him and finally, a vast gust of air sating his lungs. 

He took short, noiseless gasps, attempting to fill his lungs to capacity, in case the air was abruptly taken from him again. But, the figure kept pushing oxygen towards him with her hands, allowing him to take deeper and deeper breaths. After a few moments, Frank was able to clear his vision, wiping at his hazy eyes. There was red fabric, beautiful flowing silk covering the woman from the neck down. Thin, tanned hands reaching for him, lifting his chin until he was facing her. 

“You’re safe.” She said, sweetly, thumb rubbing circles into his cheek.”

He was still reeling from nearly suffocating, taking a few more deep breaths before steadying himself enough to speak. “Mom?” 

“You have to go, Frank.” She said, her face sympathetic. She looked just as Frank recalled her – olive Italian skin, deep coffee-colored mane that hung just below her shoulders, the beginnings of gray hair just poking through the color near her ears. She was thin, but her face was full – just as it was before she got sick.

“Go where?” He questioned, taking in the features of a face he had not laid eyes on in so many years. 

She smiled knowingly at him and sighed, her movements far more loving and kind than they had been as Frank remembered them being when she was alive. “You have to go back.” 

He didn’t know what she meant, but at the same time he understood perfectly. “I don’t want to go back.” He shook his head fervently. “I don’t want to go back there.”

She ran a few fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp in the way Frank had always hoped she would. The way he had always silently pleaded for when he was sick, or scared, or lonely. It was everything he ever wanted from her, but he could feel the ground below him starting to shake – he knew it wasn’t going to hold for long, and she would be gone again.

“Sweetheart, you belong there.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then she was gone in a puff of black smoke, the ground below him collapsing, sending him further down into darkness. He tried to scream, but no words would fall from his mouth. He hit the ground again with a crack, the sensation of every bone in his body breaking; he screamed in agony. 

 

“Frank!” Gerard yelled, shaking Frank’s shoulders hard. He had been restless most of the night and into the next day, but this was the first time he had outright yelled and Gerard couldn’t take it anymore, he had been sleeping – tossing and turning – for over twelve hours. “Frank, wake up. It’s okay, wake up.”

“What’s going on?” Mikey asked, from across the room.

“I don’t know.” Gerard mumbled in response, shaking Frank’s unconscious form vigorously. “Frank!” He sputtered finally, his eyes opening wide and staring at Gerard – almost as if he was looking through him. “Frank are you okay?”

He gasped for a few beats, allowing Gerard to hold him by the collar of his shirt, a worried expression on his face. “I couldn’t breathe.” He said finally, once he had a bearing on his surroundings.

“Take deep breaths.” Gerard said, releasing him slightly, and Frank did – reveling in the feeling of his lungs being full again.

Frank sat up, his back against the wall once he had the strength to, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I saw my mom.” He whispered, more to solidify the fact to himself than anything else.

“Your mom?” Gerard asked, and he saw Mikey’s head pop up from where he was lying on the ground, curious. “You dreamt about her?”

Frank shook his head in defiance. “No...I mean yes it was a dream, but also no. It didn’t feel like a dream, it felt real. I could swear it was real...” His breathing started to pick up again, panicking, and Gerard laid a hand on his arm to keep him grounded. 

“Shh. What happened?” He asked, curious as to what could have made Frank so restless.

Frank swallowed hard, trying to make sense of it. “I was crawling. It was so fucking hot, Gerard. It was like I was on fire.” Gerard nodded, signaling Frank to continue. “And then I fell, and when I landed…it was like there was no air. I couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard I tried. There was no air wherever I was.”

“That sounds awful.” 

“I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was dying…I _was_ dying. And then…she was there. And there was air again, and I could breathe.” Frank sighed, replaying the scene in his head. It was beginning to flee his mind, as dreams do, but he held on to her words. “She told me I had to go back.”

Mikey sat up a bit, his face still badly beaten and bruised and Frank pushed away the urge to cringe. “Go back where?”

“I don’t know. She just kept saying I had to go back, that I belong there.” He clenched his hands into fists, unable to make sense of it all. 

“It sounds like a really awful nightmare.” Gerard pulled Frank closer, tightening his grip on him. Frank was scared, as he had never seen him. His face had an expression of uncertainty that frightened Gerard. 

“It wasn’t just a nightmare.” Mikey said, from the corner. “It didn’t feel like a nightmare, did it?” He questioned, and Frank made a small whining noise, so small and in the height of his throat, that it made Gerard want to hold him, shield him from anything bad in the world. 

“It felt real.” He said through a shaky breath. “I felt myself hit the ground…” He remembered the sensation, his bones cracking apart into pieces, how the nerves in his skin became severed with the impact. “I felt it.” 

“Sometimes dreams are intense.” Gerard reasoned, petting at Frank’s hair. “You’re stressed out, we all are.”

“No, it was more than that.” Frank said softly. “This wasn’t like a normal dream. I…I can remember every line in her face, I can still feel the sweat on my skin.” 

Gerard pieced his fingers through Frank’s hair, wet with sweat. “Our bodies have reactions to dreams, you…”

“No!” Frank shouted, pulling forward and out of Gerard’s grip. “You don’t get it!”

“I thought it was bullshit…” Mikey uttered lowly. “When another collector told me he had heard about McGuire being able to suppress memories.” Gerard eyed him suspiciously from across the room. “Could that have been a memory, Frank?” 

“A memory of what?” Gerard asked sarcastically. “Frank falling out of the sky?”

“No.” Mikey sighed. “I mean his mom. That part, not the whole falling and dying thing. I mean, maybe that’s a memory, but…” Gerard shot him a warning look and he shut his mouth.

Frank was staring at the ground, dissociating from his surroundings, trying to put himself back in that place…trying to find the memory that was within it. “Why would I remember that now?”

“Like I said, stress probably.” Gerard smiled reassuringly, but Frank wasn’t so convinced. 

“And why would McGuire have been able to control of my memories? How?” He was starting to panic again, knees shaking uncomfortably against the ground. 

“I don’t know.” Mikey replied. “I thought it was all hearsay.”

Gerard looked a deadly combination of angry and concerned, unsure how any of this information was beneficial to Frank or his current mental state. “The likelihood of them being able to pull off any of that is next to none. Let’s be realistic here, controlling memories? Suppressing them? Come on.” He shook his head, unconvinced. 

Frank was still quiet, all prior beliefs and confidences he had gone. “Is it really that unbelievable though?” He asked, eyes still turned towards the ground. “Any more unbelievable than what’s already happened?”

Gerard sighed, unable to argue. “No, but…” 

“We have to consider it, Gerard.” Mikey claimed, and he had a point, Gerard figured. 

“So then what do we do?”

“He’s got to try and remember what that was, if it was…something…from the past.” Mikey replied, combing through his words carefully. “Somehow.” He hoped any of his words made sense. Out of context, they surely would not.

It was quiet for a few minutes; the only sound their combined breathing and a few hard swallows coming from Frank’s direction. “We’ve got to get going.” Frank said, and stood up, pulling the blanket with him. None of them had noticed, but the sun was already setting and it would be time to leave soon.

“Are you sure?” Gerard questioned, the end of the sentence nearly cut off by Frank.

“Yes.” He stuffed the blanket into one of the plastic bags that was littering the floor, shoving trash in another and tying it off. “This doesn’t change anything; we still have to get out of here.”

Gerard looked unconvinced, but let Frank have the final say. The three of them gathered what they could, Gerard helping to lift Mikey and cart him up the stairs. Frank took a final look at the basement; some remnants of them left behind, and sighed. 

He couldn’t comprehend just what the dream meant, or even if he was supposed to analyze it at all. Perhaps it was simply that – a dream, nothing more and nothing less. As usual, though, Frank had a sinking feeling in the pit of his chest that wouldn’t leave him. Like a rock, at the bottom of his ribcage, pulling him down low to the ground, nearer and nearer the moment he would finally fall, and break every bone.


	31. Chapter 31

“Flip a coin?” Frank questioned, hesitant.

“Yeah, why not?” Gerard shrugged. The three of them – well, Gerard and Frank – had been arguing about which direction to go for the past ten minutes, the car, running on fumes, still idling behind the gate of the burnt out house.

“There isn’t really any one right answer, we just have to go.” Mikey exhaled loudly from the back seats.

Frank had suggested going south, towards Florida, but Gerard – wanting to get as far away from McGuire and their headquarters in Ohio as possible – wanted to go west; somewhere in Washington or even California. Though Frank agreed on Gerard’s sentiment, he didn’t want to risk going anywhere near Ohio to get out west, and they simply didn’t have the money to detour around it more than a few hundred miles. “I suppose.” Frank sighed and started digging through his pockets for spare change. “I don’t have any quarters.” He held out his hand, two nickels and a dirty penny in his palm.

“That’s okay, this will work.” Gerard said, plucking a burnished nickel from Frank’s hand and positioning it at the top of his thumb. Mikey perched himself closer to the center of the cabin to watch. “Heads or tails?”

“Uh.” Frank thought it over for a minute. “Tails.”

Gerard nodded. “Okay, tails we head south…heads we go west.” He waited for Frank to nod as well, and then tossed it, letting it land in his palm and then flipping it over onto the back of his other hand.

“Heads.” Mikey said, definitively.

Gerard rolled his eyes. “It’s tails, Mikey.” He held it out for Frank to see, agreeing. “How’s your sight?”

“Not as good as I thought I guess.” Mikey shrugged, poking at his still-shut left eye. “It’s mostly shapes and colors in this one.” He rubbed at his right eye, trying to clear it but his vision stayed the same.

“That’s probably from the swelling. Your right eye should be fine. I don’t know about that one though.” Gerard said, pushing Mikey’s hand away and poking lightly at the purple skin.

“Alright, so we head south.” Frank said, determined. “We’ve got to get gas, but I used every penny I had buying supplies.”

“I have money.” Gerard spoke quickly, pulling out his wallet and handing Frank a card. “Here.”

“They might be able to trace the transactions.” Mikey said, quickly. “You should pull any money we’ll need out while we’re still in Jersey.” Frank took the card from Gerard, dropping it into the cup holder between them.

“They won’t let me take that much out of an ATM.” Gerard said, chewing at his lip. “I’ll have to go inside.”

Frank grumbled, exasperated. “Fuck, you’re right.”

“That shouldn’t be an issue.” Mikey said, flippantly. “You're the least of McGuire's concerns, Gerard. They don’t know that you’re with us, and if they _are_ tracking financial transactions, it’ll look like you didn’t skip town with Frank, and you’re still here.”

“That…makes a lot of sense, actually.” Frank said, thoughtfully. “Okay – Gerard, what bank do you generally go to?”

“Uh, Jersey Federal Credit Union, but I don’t usually go in.”

“That’s alright, just tell me where it is.” Frank put the car in drive and pulled carefully around the building and back out on to the deserted street.

“Like, five minutes from my apartment. On Market Street.”

“Okay. We’ll have to hide somewhere until they open in a few hours.” Frank drove slowly, down the street, back towards the city they had left only a week earlier.

The drive in and of itself was nothing distinctive, but it was unnerving to say the least; as if driving through a post-apocalyptic version of their town, where anything and anyone could be a potential threat, out to target the three of them. Nothing had changed about the town, but in some ways _everything_ had changed.

The well-dressed executive walking to his car just as dawn hit, the black sedan with the burnt out headlight at the intersection, the still-closed shops that lined Market street –all threatening in new ways that Frank could never put into words no matter how hard he tried.

“Should I withdrawal everything?” Gerard questioned, toying with the card in his hand.

“That depends.” Frank had not wanted to ask, but he’d been curious from the start, and now was his chance. “How much are we talking?” Frank pulled the car around the back of the building, the sun peeking through the trees behind them.

“I don’t know…a few thousand.” He cleared his throat before mumbling. “Seven thousand or so.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“Christ.” Frank muttered, under his breath as the car jerked into park. “Explain to me why we’ve been staying in an abandoned house for a week?”

Gerard sighed, uncomfortable. “It’s savings. I haven’t touched it…it’s from the military settlement.” He shot a knowing look at Frank, who looked disappointed. “It didn’t feel right…after what you said.” He whispered, just in earshot of him.

Frank nodded. “Well, now is as good a time as any, I guess. Leave a few hundred…taking it all might look suspicious if someone looks into it. You’ve got your ID?” Gerard bobbed his head up and down for a time longer than necessary, getting lost in his own thoughts. “I think someone is here.” Frank said, and pointed towards the back window of the bank, the lights flicking on inside.

“What time do they open?” Mikey questioned, startling Frank who had almost forgotten he was there.

“Probably like nine.” He shrugged. “Gerard?”

He swallowed hard, nervous. “Something like that.”

Frank laid a hand on Gerard’s knee, but it did little to calm the older man’s nerves. He stayed like that, shifting glances between the rearview mirror and the door to the bank for forty-five minutes, until a mousey woman unlocked the door, and the green sign on the window - displaying the name of the bank, lit up. “Remember – leave a few hundred, take an uneven number. In, and out…” Frank spoke softly, as Gerard exited the car. “You’ll be fine.”

Gerard couldn’t answer, just slipped the door shut with a quiet click and walked swiftly towards the side of the building towards the entrance. Frank’s own nerves shot up once Gerard was out of view, his leg bouncing, hitting the steering wheel with his knee, until Gerard reappeared a few minutes later.

“Hey…” Frank said fast, once Gerard had sat back down. “Okay?” Gerard exhaled loudly, all the air in his lungs into the cabin of the car and nodded.

“Six thousand, seven hundred and twelve.” He handed Frank an envelope, filled with cash – mostly hundreds, a handful of twenties and other bills. “And twenty seven cents, for good measure.” Frank shook the envelope, the change rattling in the bottom.

Frank promptly kissed him on the cheek, handing the envelope back to a blushing Gerard. “You did good.”

“Where to now?” Mikey questioned, concerned only with where he would be sleeping tonight.

“Wherever we end up.” Frank shrugged, and began to pull out of the lot.

 

They stopped only to fill the car with gas and stock what little space they had with cheap snacks , Mikey slinking down and hiding in the back, Frank barking at him to get down in case someone saw. He had a point, Mikey assumed - that if someone were to see his mangled face, they would no doubt call the police, furthering the amount of people on their trail.

Halfway into Delaware, barely out of their own state, Frank started to swerve to the right - his face pale and disassociated, just a bit, shaking Gerard out of peaceful contemplation. “You alright?” He questioned, eyeing Frank’s white knuckles on the steering wheel.

He nodded, shaking his head to clear his vision of sleep, and took a deep breath. “Yeah. Just tired.” Gerard chewed at his lip and watched him for a moment, Frank looking over and smiling, some color returning to his cheeks, which seemed to satisfy Gerard and he averted his gaze back to the window.

Frank followed the signs for the i95 corridor, the road bright but empty, rush hour traffic having all but gone, which was lucky – because just as Frank passed the exit for Newport, he swerved onto the white line, the tires rubbing angrily at divots near the shoulder. “Frank!” Gerard screeched, his left hand clutching for the wheel and shoving it left, just before the right side of the car hit the metal guard rail.

“What the fuck…” Mikey murmured, from the back, his feet instinctively propping up and pushing into Frank’s seat.

“I’m sorry…” He uttered, voice small and unsure, the car slowing down as Frank lifted his foot off the gas. He brought the car to a stop, pulling to the right, this time purposely, and on to the shoulder. He breathed hard for a moment, rubbing at his eyes – his body startling as a car veered past them and the cabin shook.

“What happened?” Gerard asked urgently, his hand still on the wheel, though his grip had loosened.

Frank shook his head, his face the same sickly shade of pale it had been a few miles earlier. “I…I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired.”

“You slept for twelve hours yesterday, Frank.” Gerard said, unconvinced.

“It wasn’t exactly restful, Gerard.” Mikey said from the backseat, and he was right.

Frank shook his head. “Exactly, I’m just sleep deprived.”

Gerard looked unsure, but calmed a bit. “I’ll drive.” He opened the passenger door without a word of contest from Frank, switching seats swiftly. “You don’t look alright, Frank.” He commented, before pulling back on to the road.

Truth be told, Frank’s insides were twisting, pulling. He hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days, protein drinks and beef jerky all that was sustaining him. “I’m just tired, hungry.” He shifted in the passenger seat, trying to get comfortable on the leather, but the material didn't feel right on his skin.

“We all are.” Gerard said, sympathetically. “Just try to rest.” Frank nodded and shut his eyes, letting the murmur of the pavement below the car lull him to sleep.

 

 

_“Explain it to me again.” Sarah said, her eyes narrowed on the screen. She wanted to be sure, wanted to be in control._

_“This button.” The man, in a white lab coat pointed towards the screen, towards a flashing red “stop” button in the top left. “This will halt the device.”_

_“Okay.” She nodded, and he continued._

_“These are your controls. I’ve got it set at four. It won’t seriously hurt him, but the farther he gets from the homing device, the more painful it will be.” He scrolled the screen down, pointing out each number and their varying degrees of torture. “This is a failsafe device, Sarah.”_

_“I don’t need that.” She said, brushing him off._

_“They all have a failsafe.” He scrolled down farther. “So, if something _does_ happen – it will self-destruct, erasing all evidence of McGuire - or us. And then your agent, Sarah? He is no more.” He looked up at her from where he was sitting in front of the computer. “It’s imperative that you monitor this extremely closely. Agents have a seventy-six percent suicide rate over level eight. If you want this guy back, and not dead, I suggest you don't put it over six.”_

_“You don’t know how he is.” She started, annoyed, the thought of how Frank had so witlessly denied her more than generous offer, making her sick. The man he stood up, towering over her, angry._

_“No.” He grabbed her tight by her shoulders. “You have to listen to me. The farther he gets from this homing signal, the more torturous it will be for him. This is only to be used in extreme circumstances, to lead them back here. We…we’re still testing this…don't you get that?" He interrogated, peering down. “If Dr. O’Leary finds out, I…” He sounded hesitant, and Sarah almost felt bad for a moment._

_“Daddy won’t find out.” She said at once, pushing away from his grip. “I’ll be cautious with it.”_

_“You’d better be, Sarah.” He grumbled, leaning over the computer again. “I’m entrusting you with this…I could get in a lot of trouble if anyone found out I’m allowing you to activate this on an agent that isn’t part of our testing. So, keep it quiet, do you understand me?”_

_“Justin…baby.” She cooed sweetly, running soft fingers down the inside of his arm. “I promise.”_

_“Spare me the act, Sarah.” He spat, pulling his arm away from her touch. “Call me if anything happens of interest.” He huffed, and walked around the desk and through the door, Sarah smiling slyly behind the computer turned the level to five._


	32. Chapter 32

_Sarah was in the corner, much as she was for most of her childhood, listening – but not really hearing – what her father was going on about. He had been barking at her for twenty minutes, having audited the entirety of her compound, his old, meddlesome fingers working through every piece of the business she had been struggling to build on her own, for years._

_“Are you even listenenin’ to me?” He growled, feet pacing around the room._

_“Yes, daddy.” She replied, tone almost mocking._

_“I should shut this entire place down.” He uttered, under his breath._

_“Don’t you dare. I’ve worked my fingers to the bone for this…” Sarah cut back, standing from her seat to face him._

_He sighed, struggling with the few options he had. “Fourteen, Sorcha!” He yelled, stepping forward towards her. “Fourteen investigations…and not one word of it ta’ me!”_

_“They were never a concern!” She shouted back, folding her arms and stepping back, out of his striking distance. “I took care of them!”_

_He stamped his foot, brutal movements towards her as she backed up against the wall. “Yer a fool, Sorcha! Just like the old man…kill anyone who gets in the way!” She didn’t bother to argue, just stared at him with red eyes. “You know the protocol, if an agent is injured ‘er refuses service, they get reset and released. If someone comes pokin’ their nose around, ya’ call for back up…ya dahn’t kill ‘em!”_

_She knew this, knew the orders were to capture, reset, release…call for back up, blah, blah, blah. The words had been burned through her brain in her childhood, but she couldn’t stand idly by…knowing a potential agent was withering away, out in the world, no memory of their past life and wasting their talents. They would rather be dead, she figured, and so she did the honors personally. And if the government came looking around? That was an easy fix…a shot to the head kept most of them from bothering her for at least six months._

_“This is not an organization o’ murder, Sorcha. This is the future. We are not hitmen, we are not the god damned Italians.” He spat at her, and backed away just enough to allow her to breathe. “I’ve spent my entire life building up what yer grandfather nearly burned down. 1843 the Mollies established…nothing more than immigrants, hopin’ ta build a better future through anarchy. But, us, back ‘n Ireland…we knew…knew that the only way we could win, create…force, a better future was to wait, ‘nd build…”_

_She swallowed hard, having heard the story close to a hundred times. “Listen, I know that but things have changed…”_

_Her words were cut short as he backhanded her, his wrinkled hand coming in contact with her face in a vicious motion, sending her reeling backwards. “The only thing that’s changed is you!” She yelped, her hands coming up to hold her cheek where it was reddened. “The agents do the eradicating, not you.” He said, demanding. “We are not our ancestors, we do not rule through anarchy anymore…we rule with discipline, through an intellect that this world has yet to recognize. But, if you’re here fuckin’ killin’ people left an’ right we’ll never get the respect we deserve!”_

_He shot one last disapproving look at her before turning around and slamming the door behind him. Sarah fought the urge to sob, not so much at the pain or the thought of her father’s hate, but at the feeling that she was the only person staying true to Molly McGuire’s original intent…agrarian rebellion through revolution. She would rather burn this organization to the ground, she figured, than see it turned into some high society secret organization._

_The only pawn she had in the game was her agents, and she satisfied herself by turning the level on Frank’s dial up to six, a sigh of relief knowing that she had – at least somewhat – control over what might be her only winner in the match._

 

 

“I’m stopping.” Gerard sighed, through gritted teeth.

Mikey made a whining noise from the back seat, uncertain. “Are you sure?” He unbuckled himself, despite the fact that they were still hurdling down the interstate, to perch his front in between the seats, elbows resting on the center console. “We haven’t even hit South Carolina yet.”

Gerard shook his head, pulling off the highway and onto a dimly lit exit ramp. “Yes.” Frank made a whirring noise, his face plastered with sweat on the leather seat. “Look at him.”

Frank’s face was exceptionally pale – ashen and sickly, his breathing shallow. “Did he get hurt?” Mikey questioned, in case there was something he didn’t know, and began pushing Frank’s sopping wet hair out of his face. His eyes, still shut, twitching underneath his eyelids.

“No. He’s been fine.” Gerard commented, quickly. He pulled on to a dark road, the signs for a Motel 6 on the horizon. He just had to get them somewhere to sleep for the night, somewhere he could get Frank a cool shower and rest. “I don’t know if he caught something, or what.”

They pulled into the parking lot, parking under a burnt out streetlamp; in the passenger seat, Gerard began to gently shake Frank, exhaling in relief when he finally came to. “Where’re ‘we?” He mumbled, the words running together.

“Hotel. Somewhere to sleep for a bit.” Gerard smiled at him, reaching over to wipe at his brow. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful.” Frank couldn’t deny it, his muscles aflame with each motion. “I feel…bad.” He sat up as he said it, unable to put the feeling into words.

“You look like shit.” Mikey commented, from outside the car.

“That’s rich.” Frank strained with the words, attempting to swing his legs around the doorframe so he could stand. “Coming from you.”

“Never mind, he’s fine, Gerard.” Mikey scoffed, and as worried as Gerard was for Frank, he couldn’t help but smirk – just a tad – to see a bit of Frank’s matchless personality shine through, in spite of everything.

“He’s not fine.” Gerard replied, resuming his serious tone. He grasped Frank’s hands and pulled him onto his feet, shaky. “Whoa, I got you.” Frank swayed, his back hitting the doorframe of the car, Gerard tightening his grip on his arms to keep him from falling.

Frank shook his head; eyes shut tight, he tried to push the dizziness away. “Been sitting too long.” He lied, and stepped forward, Gerard keeping his hold on him close, cautious paces towards the entrance of the motel.

“I’m gonna’ get us a room.” Gerard declared, as he eased Frank through the heavy metal door. “You stay here.” He huffed, placing Frank in a blue armchair near the counter, a worried look on his face, and Frank nodded.

Once Gerard was out of earshot Frank rotated his body, wincing as he did, towards Mikey whose back had turned away from the entrance, his injured face opposite the corner of the room. “Mikey.”

“Mmm?” He questioned, a hum under his breath without turning his head.

“What’s happening to me?” Frank grilled, though it came out more of a demand, even with his voice weak and grated.

“I don’t know.” Mikey whispered, his voice getting lower as he heard Gerard begin speaking to the woman at the front desk. “I really don’t…”

Frank shifted a bit in his chair, his muscles burning as he twisted towards Mikey. “They’re doing something to me, aren’t they?” He said, matter of fact. “They’ve poisoned me or something, right?”

Mikey exhaled, his head turning to the right just enough to see Frank out of the corner of his eye, his figure distorted and blurry. “It’s not _if_ they are doing something to you that I think is the question, it’s _what_ are they doing to you that you should be concerned about. I knew McGuire was secretive…lethal…but I discounted it – kept my head down and did my job. I truly thought it was all rumors; you know how people create wild stories to explain what they cannot understand. I don’t know what they’re capable of anymore, Frank… ”

Frank could hear Gerard wrapping up, the woman handing him a key across the room. “Would they kill me?”

“No.” Mikey said quickly, just as Gerard turned towards them and started walking over. “Maybe.”

“How?” Frank probed, his voice barely a whisper. “How could they have gotten to me?”

Mikey sighed, without answers. “I don’t know, Frank.” He supposed, his voice sounding genuinely bleak.

“Don’t tell Gerard.” Frank necessitated, winding his body back around just as Gerard approached them.

“Come on, Frank.” Gerard stepped in front of him, his shoes poking at the bottom of Frank’s pants, and held out his arms out for him to grip and lift himself out of the chair. “A cool bath and a good night’s sleep will make you feel better.” Gerard smiled at him, but even without seeing it, Mikey could tell it wasn’t genuine. Gerard knew that something was wrong; it was evident in his voice – in his face.

“You’re probably right.” Frank agreed, allowing Gerard to lead him down the hall, Mikey on their tail. They turned a corner and walked down an empty, red hallway, stopping at door 176.

“A real bed.” Gerard said with a gasp, almost as if he was surprised the room _actually_ had one. “It feels like it’s been forever.” He led Frank over to the side of one of two double beds, collapsing on it himself once Frank sat.

“Do you think they deliver food here?” Mikey questioned, lying opposite them, already rustling the covers overtop of his legs, not bothering to remove his shoes.

“Oh I hadn’t even thought of that.” Gerard replied, wistfully. “Probably. Fuck, food sounds so amazing right now. I’ve been nauseously hungry for like three days.”

“Sorry.” Frank uttered, suddenly overcome with a feeling of immense guilt.

“What?” Gerard sounded genuinely shocked at the word, sitting up to look at the back of Frank’s head, as if it held the answers to the universe.

“I said sorry.” Frank said, more forcefully. It was if his veins were filling with the grief of their situation, melted down and injected into his body, poisoning him. Maybe that’s what was making him sick, his own mind, all the while feeling – knowing – that this was _his_ fault. They were here because of _him_ “I’m sorry that you’re here because of me.”

Mikey, though still lying down, seemed to tense up and focus on Frank – his vision, blurry, could see that Frank’s face was red, as if embarrassed and it confounded him; the sudden change of personality.

“I’m sorry that because of me, you’re both probably going to die. Mikey…you almost did die. I…I shouldn’t even be here.” Frank seemed to panic, a newfound strength and energy filling his lungs and he stood, on shaky legs, before bolting for the door.

“Frank…” Gerard tried to yell it, but his body was already in motion, the word coming out guttural and desperate. He stumbled towards the door, inches behind Frank and grabbed on to his shirt, the fabric ripping in his hand as Frank attempted to pull away. “Stop! What are you doing?” Gerard questioned, his tone fraught.

“I’m going to get everyone killed!” Frank sobbed, actual tears starting to run down his face, and Gerard could only stutter, dumbfounded, as he had never seen Frank like this. “I can’t take it anymore, I…I’m fucking worthless, Gerard…I…I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to _live_ anymore.”

Mikey was only a few paces behind Gerard now, watching Frank’s mania from the corner. He wrestled with the idea of telling Gerard that McGuire could be behind Frank’s hysterics, but couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth.

“No.” Gerard said, serious. “No.” He was beginning to panic himself, Mikey could tell in the way his body was shifting, shoulders shaking with worry. “Stop, please. I want to be here…I…”

“Just let me die!” Frank screamed, eyes bloodshot. He dropped to the floor, Gerard gathering him in his arms without hesitation.

“No.” He said again, his arms around Frank impossibly tight. “I love you.” He looked over at Mikey, serious, and mouthed to him, unquestionably ‘What’s happening?’


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should really be a continuance of Chapter 32, not a separate Chapter, but I am impulsive and upload these literally right after "finishing" them.

“I don’t know…really, Gerard…” Mikey stumbled over his words, a familiar, cold sensation befalling his limbs as he watched Frank choke on his own sobs - fear. Gerard’s expression was cold, as though he suspected Mikey of holding all the answers, but wouldn’t give them up.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore…” Frank sniveled, in between dry heaving. “Why do I feel like this?” He retched forward, his entire abdomen protesting the feeling, muscles tensed and stiff.

“What do you feel like?” Gerard questioned, doing his best to keep his voice as sympathetic as possible despite his obvious confusion. He readjusted his hold on Frank, gathering him into his arms, his back up against the hotel room door, blocking it, in case Frank attempted to make a break for it again. “Talk to me.” 

Frank quivered for a moment, coughing, in Gerard’s arms before gasping enough oxygen to be able to speak. “Like I’ll never be happy again.” He responded plainly, a drawn out wail following the words. “My insides hurt.” He began heaving again, bile making its’ way up his throat, into his mouth and expelled on to the rug. “Fuck.” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay – Mikey, get a towel.” Gerard tutted, rubbing at Frank’s sides. His entire frame was shaking, his stomach burning as if it were on fire, combusting his body from the inside out as he vomited again. Frank looked down at the carpet through glassy eyes, expecting his vomit to be expansive and black – charred and evil – but the small mess of vomit was exceedingly ordinary, proof of the diminutive amounts Frank had had to eat or drink over the past few days. It made him cringe, nonetheless.

“Take deep breaths.” Gerard instructed, mimicking the motions – breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. 

“Here.” Mikey kneeled down, a damp cloth in his hand and held it out for Gerard. He began wiping at the carpet with a dry one, Frank reaching forward to meekly slap his hand out of the way. 

“I can do it.” He took the towel from Mikey and began cleaning up, Mikey sighing and sitting back on his heels. “Sorry, I just don’t want you to have to do it.” 

Frank leaned forward, wiping the carpet dry and sighed. “It’s starting to go away.” He said, choosing not to elaborate on the feeling. 

“Frank…” Mikey whispered, under his breath, as if Gerard wasn’t inches away. Frank knew what he was imparting, without him having to say anything at all.

He threw the towel to the side, kneeling forward so that he could shift in front of the two brothers. “Mikey and I…” He looked over at Mikey, who nodded, signaling him to continue. “We think maybe McGuire poisoned me.” 

Gerard’s face went red, then pale, within seconds. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded hurt, and it was almost enough to send Frank reeling again. 

“It’s a fairly new development.” Mikey said, offhandedly. “Only got to talk about it in the lobby while you were getting the keys.” Mikey pulled his knees up to his chest, lying his head on them and for a moment, with the left side of his face shadowed, Frank thought he looked almost like himself again.

“How could they have poisoned you?” Gerard shook his head, unable to fathom – unwilling. “We’ve not been apart in days…we haven’t seen anyone than each other in days…” Gerard ran through the past week, attempting to identify any point when McGuire could have possibly contaminated Frank, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the still-pale Frank sitting in front of him. 

Frank exhaled and pushed his, once again, sweat disheveled hair out of his face. “I don’t know.”

“No.” Gerard differed, eyes narrowed. “What kind of poison makes you suicidal?” Frank pulled at the fibers on the carpet in front of him, unnerved. The dismal feeling was still somewhere in the back of his mind, pacing, waiting to show itself in one form or another. Frank did his best to focus on the pieces of thread in front of him. 

“So maybe it’s not poison, then.” Mikey said, thoughtfully. “But it’s something.” 

“It’s the flu.” Gerard reasoned half-heartedly, though his face betrayed him. 

“Gerard…” Frank tittered, his head cocked to the side. Even with the initial shock, and then subsequent denial, Frank had accepted that this couldn’t be explained away as an illness. “You said it yourself, what kind of flu makes you…you know?” Gerard opened his mouth to speak, likely to argue the point, but Frank continued. “I’ve _never_ felt like that before…like if I didn’t run I’d kill myself…I _wanted_ to kill myself.”

“Just out of the blue?” Mikey questioned, Frank retorting his head to the side to look at him.

He thought about it for a moment, attempting to recall the feeling without putting too much thought into it, afraid it would start again. “It was something about the way Gerard said how hungry he was…it was like my blood filled with guilt. Just, all of a sudden, I felt so…culpable, and every bone felt heavy and sore. I’ve never felt something so strongly before…I don’t know how to explain it.” Frank swallowed hard, remembering the feeling, but unable to place his finger on exactly what it was. 

“But, you know that this…” Gerard gestured vaguely, though Frank understood. “Isn’t your fault, right?”

Frank was about to speak when he was quieted by Mikey. “It’s mine.” Gerard’s face downturned, towards the floor, as Mikey spoke. “It’s my fault.” All three men knew it was true; Mikey didn’t have to voice it, but Gerard seemed to appreciate it enough, his hand shuffling forward and finding place on Mikey’s shoulder. There wasn’t anything Gerard could say that would release Mikey’s blame, but the gesture was kind – far kinder than Gerard had been to him in weeks.

“ _I’m_ the murderer.” Frank said, as if it were an admission, and not a well-known fact between the trio. “I think the only person here who _hasn’t_ killed someone is Mikey.” Frank tittered, before continuing. “I’m not blameless here, but…I appreciate that, nonetheless.” 

Mikey smiled sadly at him, allowing it to be the end of discussion. His expression turned to decided after a few moments, lifting his bruised cheek from his knees and looking towards Frank in question. “Do you think you’ll be okay getting a shower by yourself? I want to talk to Gerard for a few minutes.” It took Frank by surprise, but he nodded, patting a hand on Gerard’s shoulder before heading into the bathroom. 

“I’m staying right here.” Gerard declared, shifting his body weight towards the bathroom door so that he could keep close watch on Frank. Frank didn’t argue; it was probably for the best, and shut the door with a click behind him, the water starting momentarily afterwards. 

“I have an idea.” Mikey said softly, inching nearer to where Gerard had set up guard. 

“Okay…” Gerard sounded unsure, and he hesitated. “Hit me.”

“You’re not going to like it.” Mikey snorted, and Gerard rolled his eyes.

“Then the answer is no.”

Mikey shook his head. “I’m not asking your permission.” His tone was serious and it made Gerard snap to attention. 

“I don’t like where you’re going with this.” Gerard replied gravely. 

Mikey wanted to falter, to think it over again, but he knew that if he let himself dwell on the idea for too long, he would talk himself out of it. “I have to go back.”

“Absolutely not.” Gerard exclaimed, a combination of a shriek and a hushed whisper that until this very moment, Mikey didn’t know existed. “That’s a surefire way to get yourself fucking killed.”

“Maybe.” Mikey shrugged, and it wasn’t the answer Gerard would have expected from the usually overzealous, brash Mikey he was used to. “But I might save both of your lives. Besides, McGuire thinks I’m already dead, I might be able to get in and actually get us some useful information without them ever knowing I was there.” The idea was hopeful, enough that Mikey thought maybe Gerard would digress, even if he didn’t believe it himself.

“What do you mean they think you’re dead?” Gerard questioned, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. 

Mikey shrugged, again, and Gerard fought the urge to shove him hard enough to take his words seriously. “Bits and pieces have come back to me over the past few days. I remember when I was in and out of consciousness, hearing the guys that took me arguing over what happened, and about how they were going to get into shit because they’d killed me. At one point they were arguing how to dispose of…’the body’.” Mikey said, with quotations around the words, Gerard’s face twisting into something repulsive. “I remember them eventually saying to ‘leave it’, and I guess they left, because I woke up alone and fucking ran for it.”

“Jesus Christ, Mikey.” Gerard uttered, the only words he could find to express his discomfort. The water shut off in the bathroom, a few last drips coming from the faucet as he heard Frank shuffling around in the bathroom behind him. 

“Still alive!” Frank yelled through the door, and Gerard grinned. 

“I’m going back.” Mikey whispered, his brow furrowed in a way that Gerard had never seen before, and he realized he had no choice but to accept it. “Don’t tell Frank, okay?” 

Mikey shifted forward on to his knees, waiting for Gerard to agree before he got up. “When?” Gerard questioned, unable to say ‘okay’ to something so preposterous, and so he forfeited his approval completely. 

“Probably in the next day or so. Whenever I can get out without Frank noticing…I don’t know what could set him off.” Mikey shrugged. “I’ll tell you before I go. We should get burner phones.” Mikey kneeled forward, stood up and faced Gerard, towering above him. “To keep in touch.”

“I’ll go out and do it; you stay and keep Frank company.” Gerard declared, voice hushed. 

Mikey nodded, just as the bathroom door opened to reveal a shadow of Frank in a towel. “Can you throw me some clothes?” Frank asked, through the crack of the bathroom door. Gerard complied quickly, standing and walking over to the plastic bags filled with clothes, trash and scraps of food – something other than Mikey’s outrageous plan to keep his mind occupied, even if only for a moment.


	34. Chapter 34

“I don’t understand why I can’t come with you.” Frank griped, lying back on the bed, his wet hair dampening the pillows, much to Gerard’s disdain. “What if something happens? I need to be there to protect you.”

“No offense, Frank.” Gerard started, right hand on his hip and keys in his left. “But I think you’re safer here. I think _I’m_ safer with you here.”

“That’s bullshit.” He spat, though his tone was more childish and less threatening.

“Look, we just don’t know what triggers your…episodes… yet, and it’d be bad if something were to happen while we were out, where people could you know…see.” Gerard sighed, standing next to where Frank was spread out, and patted him on the shoulder. “I won’t be long.”

Frank knew that Gerard wasn’t trying to be insulting, but he couldn’t help but feel as if he was being punished for something he couldn’t control. And okay, so maybe that was the concern…he couldn’t control it, but it still felt like retribution he didn’t deserve. He groaned and turned on his side, facing Gerard. “Alright, I guess.”

“Good boy.” Gerard commended with a wink, and turned on his heel – Frank couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at the phrase, unable to determine if the shiver down his spine was from Gerard or another bout of insanity. It came and went so quickly that Frank almost didn’t even have time to register it.

“He’ll be fine by himself, you know.” Mikey said into the silence, a few moments after Gerard had clicked the hotel room door shut.

“Yeah, I know.” Frank replied, the words coming out more brazen than he had intended. “I just really hate this – being babysat because I can’t control myself.”

Mikey exhaled audibly, making Frank flip his body over so that he was on his other side, facing him. “Trust me, I do.” He began pulling at his shoes, groaning when he finally had them off. “I’m gonna get a shower. I know Gerard thinks you need to be watched 24/7, but I think you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you.” Frank said earnestly, appreciating the gesture. “I promise I’ll say something if I start feeling bad again.”

Mikey nodded and headed for the bathroom, leaving Frank to himself. It was the most peace Frank had had in days, he thought briefly, and he took a few moments to shut his eyes and bask in droning sound of the water running a few feet over.

Before he was aware of it, he was asleep; deep, calming breaths lulling him farther into slumber. The room was warm, but perfectly so, not at all damp and humid like the basement had been. It was tranquil, peaceful, blackness...until it wasn’t.

Frank was dropped to the ground, on his hands and knees, crawling. It wasn’t sweltering hot this time, at least, and he found it easier to move throughout the space, nothing more than a black room. There was a sound in the background of the place this time, obscured just enough for him to feel the reverberation under his knees, as if he were locked in a bathroom at a house party. He couldn’t make out what it was, if it was music or something else, but he kept moving hoping that he would find it. He had to find it.

 _'So I'm back, to the velvet underground_  
_ Back to the floor, that I love _  
_ To a room with some lace and paper flowers...' _

He was aware of his breathing still, shallow but full, enough to sate his lungs as he progressed. The sound started to amplify, a guttural resonance as if it got louder and then suddenly far too quiet again. He kept on nonetheless, imploring it to come back…and it did, clearer in time, the words swirling in his brain and pulling him into warmth, as if he remembered it somehow.

 _'And it all comes down to you_  
_Well, you know that it does_  
_And lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice_  
_Oh, and it lights up the night…'_

His bones began to ache with the motions, unsure how long or how far he had crawled, only knowing that he had to keep going, had to find the melody. It continued to get clearer, words – someone singling with it, a voice in the distance that for unknown reasons, Frank wanted desperately to reach.

_'To the gypsy that remains faces freedom with a little fear  
I have no fear, I have only love…'_

Suddenly the sleek black ground below Frank turned to gravel, sharp stones and broken glass that cut into his limbs with each pace he took forward. He struggled to shout, the pain beginning to settle in, but his voice wouldn’t come. No matter how hard he attempted to push his throat to make sound, it simply refused. He did the only thing he could bare, and stopped moving, still – hands and knees being brutally assaulted with the texture of the ground beneath him.

A moment after he stopped, the music began to falter, a distance building itself between Frank and the sound and he tried desperately to sob. He had a frantic, unexplained need to reach the music, so he began crawling again despite bleeding protest from his flesh. As he moved, he left a trail of gore behind him, the words of the song becoming clearer and clearer the nearer he became to what he hoped would be the end of the room.

 _'And the child was enough_  
_Enough for me to love_  
_Enough to love_ …'

As he crawled, his hands wore down to a scene unrecognizable, the only observable remanence of him once having hands at all, hanging flesh, broken bones and bright red blood. His fingers became mangled, snapping off from his hands, the bones left in the trail behind him the farther he went, until there was nothing but stumps left for him to continue with. The pain was unbearable, but Frank’s need to reach the music was on the forefront of his mind, the voice singing with the lyrics drawing him nearer and nearer, until finally…she was there.

_'Lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice  
And it all comes down to you…'_

“Mom.” Frank uttered, his voice returned to him. She was basked in the same red silk and lace, flowing fabric brushing the floor which had returned to a smooth, black gloss. She knelt to him, mouth upturned into a sad smile, and Frank sobbed, his tears and cries releasing from his chest at long last.

“Don’t cry, sweetie.” She cooed, pulling him up by his shoulders and into her arms. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands having returned to him at some point he hadn’t realized, and he clasped them behind her, tight.

_'And it all comes down to you…'_

It was a memory, Frank realized…only something about it was different, warmer. He shut his eyes, concentrating, pulling the memory from somewhere deep in his psyche. Abruptly, Frank dropped, fell from the sky and landed on a couch. Not just any couch, but he recognized this couch…this room. He had been dropped in his childhood living room. Everything about the black room had changed around him and he was back in the home he grew up. Except, he wasn’t a child this time…he was himself, an adult, clinging to his mother with desperate vigor.

He had done this before, one night after he woke up with a terrible nightmare, to find his mom in the living room downstairs, singing with the radio uncharacteristically, her hips swaying to the melody. It was a favorite memory of his, seeing her like that…happy and carefree, and he chastised himself for having ever forgotten it.

“It was just a dream, Frankie.” She said, her voice calming and sweet. More so than she had ever truly been in life, but Frank didn’t mind the change, even if it was his own mind betraying him – altering the memory.

_'And it all comes down to you…'_

“I need you to listen to me, Frankie.” She spoke, dialogue that had never existed in the memory before. Frank’s head shot up from where it had been perched securely in her lap to look into her eyes. Her face was, again, just as he remembered…but not as it was in the memory; it had aged, the way is was when Frank was a teenager, and he knew instantly that he wasn’t the only one that knew this wasn’t real.

“I’m listening.” He replied anxiously, but she only smiled. “Please…tell me what to do.”

She placed a tentative hand on his chin, lifting it up to match her gaze. “You know what you have to do.” Her expression was serious, but it was almost see-through, as if Frank could see the love behind her eyes. If the memory were not so clear, he wouldn’t believe it was actually _his_ mother at all.

He unsettled himself from her grip, head impulsively shaking from side to side. “No, I don’t, please…I don’t know what to do.” She seemed to take her time with words, leaving seconds in between his arguments and her answers, simply to look at Frank, in a way she had never done before…as if she truly valued him, treasured him, loved him as the perfect son he never was and never would be.

“You have to go back, Frank.” She said softly, and Frank nearly began to cry again.

“You keep saying that, but I don’t know what it means!” His voice was frantic, and she only sighed.

“Home, Frank. You need to go home.”

“Home?” He questioned, voice small and childlike, unable to comprehend. “Here?” He looked around the room, at their living room, and it was clear that this wasn’t real, because everything was clouded in a shadow, unfinished memories making up the entirety of the room, every piece of it detail-less and vague.

“There are answers for you there.” She nodded, and the music began to get louder again. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he was sure that it meant it was time for her to leave. “You have to go back, Frank.”

_'She was just a wish  
And a memory is all that is left for you now...'_

“I need your help…” He called to her, just as her form began to evaporate. The room was cold, once she was gone, the red silk vanishing in front of him.

_'Lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice  
And it all comes down to you_

_I still see your bright eyes, bright eyes_  
_I have always loved you_  
_And it all comes down to you…'_


	35. Chapter 35

**“** Seriously, I fucking hate WalMart.” Gerard mumbled, plodding through the door. The rustle of plastic bags were swishing against his jeans, one catching on the metal handle of the hotel room door, the thin plastic ripping and the contents beginning to spill out in the entryway. “Shit.”

“Shhh.” Mikey hushed, angrily, from where he was sat on the opposite bed. He was flipping through a navy blue bible, the nightstand separating the two beds having been rummaged through. “Frank’s fucking sleeping.”

Gerard barely made it over to the center of the room without dropping everything, finally letting the bags fall to the carpet in front of Mikey’s bed once he detached himself from the door; he huffed in indignation at Mikey’s reading choice as soon as he caught his breath. “The <i>fuck</i> are you reading that for?”

Mikey shrugged, his eyes glued to the passages in front of him. “Needed something to keep me busy.”

“Prime choice.” Gerard declared, though it wasn’t genuine. “How long has he been out?” He questioned, voice suddenly quiet, nodding towards Frank. He peeled off his shoes with a sigh of relief, throwing them callously across the room where they landed upside down near a vent.

“Like an hour?” Mikey said, an upswing at the end of his words. “Since I got out of the shower.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Gerard’s gaze turned to Mikey; before he could look up from the page, he felt Gerard’s eyes burning a hole in him. “I thought you knew not to leave him alone, Mikey.”

“He’s not a child.” Mikey shrugged again, feigned indifference, licking his thumb casually and flipping the page.

“He’s sick.” Gerard snapped, sitting on the edge of Mikey’s bed roughly. He snatched the book out of his hands for a moment, before throwing it back into Mikey’s lap. “Put this shit down and listen to me. What if he had…you know…there’s sharp shit in here.”

Mikey looked unconvinced, his line of sight everywhere around the room but where Gerard was sitting in front of him, only a few feet away. “

He sighed, letting the book fall from his hands where he had begun to pick it up again, but thought better of it. He shut it and put it off to the side, expression thoughtful. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Gerard’s own face softened, almost surprised. “I’m <i>right</i> here.” Frank uttered, his face pressed into the pillow. “I can hear you.”

“Dumbass.” Mikey swatted at Gerard with the bible, missing by inches.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Frank cleared his throat, pushing the top half of his body up off the bed, his face – plastered to the pillow – peeling off revealing red indentations in his cheek where it had been laying. “It’s fine, really.”

“Was it restful, at least?” Gerard questioned, shrugging his shoulders. Frank sat up, craning his neck from side to side to crack it. Mikey cringed.

“I don’t really remember….I think.” Frank wiped at his eyes, pushing the sleep away that was clouding his mind. “I think I was dreaming. But I can’t remember what about.”

“It’ll come back to you.” Mikey said, assuredly. “Mine always do.”

“It doesn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary, then.” Gerard smiled at him, but Frank couldn’t see it through where his fingers were placed over his eyes.

“What did you get?” Frank asked, changing the subject completely. “I’m starving.”

Gerard nodded, pulling two of the bags up on to his lap at a time. He pulled a plastic case out of one, throwing it onto Mikey’s lap who groaned. “Oh man, this is fancy for a burner.” He said, picking up and turning over the package to review the phone inside.

“Here.” Gerard said, pulling free a pair of scissors and dropping them on Mikey’s lap a bit gentler. “I hate those blister packages. One for you, too, Frank.” Gerard held out a matching package.

“What do we need burner phones for?” Frank questioned, standing up and grabbing it from Gerard nevertheless.

“Just in case.” Mikey said, shrugging. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gerard’s face pale a bit, finding it hard to keep from Frank that Mikey planned to leave.

Frank nodded lightly, putting his hands out in a cupping motion; an attempt to catch the scissors Mikey was now throwing over to him, a grumble from Gerard in offence. “Be fucking careful.” Frank caught the handle with his right hand, the scissors swinging around his pointer finger smoothly and Gerard rolled his eyes.

Frank cut into his own package, peeling the phone out through a small opening in the plastic and inspecting it. “I didn’t know they made prepaid phones like this.”

Gerard shrugged. “That’s mostly all they had. No longer are the flip-phone Nokia burners of yesteryear.”

“Oh awesome…internet…” Mikey muttered, reading the back of the package.

“Do <i>not</i> use the internet on that thing unless you absolutely have to.” Frank reprimanded. “That’s the easiest way for anyone to track you…not just McGuire…and I’d really rather stay off their radar.”

Mikey sighed, his mouth curled up into something like disappointment.

“Seriously.” Frank commented, lying the phone down and focusing on the two brothers across the short distance between the beds. “No google searches about how to outrun your enemies, no purchasing data, and absolutely no social media. Do not call your boss, your mom…anyone other than each other.”

“Do you think they’re really monitoring all that?” Gerard questioned, his stomach queasy. “How could they know?”

“It’s a fine line…” Frank began chewing at his lip in thought. “Connecting to a Starbucks Wi-Fi for a few minutes or something probably isn’t a big deal, they wouldn’t know it’s us…but they’ll likely be looking for patterns. Calls to people we know back home, log-ins to Facebook, Twitter…whatever. Just…use it responsibly. To be safe, don’t use it at all unless you have to.”

“Alright…makes sense.” Mikey sighed.

Just then, a low grumbling sound reverberated throughout the room, Gerard’s face reddening once it was silent. “I’m goddamn famished.” Frank giggled, viewing Gerard with curiosity. His eyes – still cloudy – squinting; and for a moment, all was righted in Gerard’s world.

 

 

But, nothing could ever stay well for long. Even when Earth seemingly returned to its axis, Frank’s bones fitting back into place… into his life – the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole without so much as a warning.

Halfway through wolfing down as much of the pizza, fries, breadsticks and anything else of the $52 order Gerard had placed as Frank could get his hands on, he felt a pit at the bottom of his gut. And not the kind that he expected, where he’d chastise himself for eating so much, so quickly, simply because he hadn’t been able to for so long.

It was a different kind of heaviness, one filled with dread and anxiety, as if he had forgotten something important and it was now locked away, eating at his insides. He put his plate down, rubbing at his mouth with a thin, greasy napkin. Suddenly, he felt sick, vomit creeping up his throat inch by inch until…

“I’m gonna throw up…” He muttered, throwing his plate off to the side, uncaring about the mess he was leaving, to run for the bathroom.

“Again?” Gerard asked quickly, standing up to follow him with the same swiftness as Frank had left.

He couldn’t answer, just heaved his body down on to the floor, knees hitting the tile with sharpness. He gagged, coughing, and the tenseness in the bottom of his stomach grew tighter. Squeezing, burning.

“Shhh.” Gerard cooed, his hand lightly on Frank’s back. He rubbed circles into the fabric with his palm, trying to calm the storm in Frank’s stomach. No matter how hard Frank pushed, tensed, he couldn’t get it out. He continued to gag for another long minute or two, his throat protesting each time he coughed and nothing came up with it.

Eventually he gave up, sitting up and straightening out his esophagus with the hope that it would stop contracting so that he could catch his breath. He was drenched in sweat again, for what was the third time in a twenty four hour period. Gerard pulled him backwards, off of his knees and into his lap, his hands pushing Frank’s hair out of his face like he had done so many times before.

“You okay?” Gerard questioned, concern on his face. Frank nodded, taking a deep breath in. When he didn’t gag on it, he couldn’t help but sigh, relieving the little bit of tension still in his abdomen that he could.

“I think so.”

It was derisory to speak of it anymore, both of them knowing that even if it could be easily explained away by the food, it wasn’t that simple really. When both men returned to the room after a few more contemplative moments, Mikey having stopped eating, Frank could only shrug with indifference.

He picked up his plate in silence where it had landed upside down, brushing it off and pulling another piece of pizza on to it. He continued to eat, ignoring the gnawing feeling deep in his gut for a while longer, as long as he could, until it inevitably came reeling again.


	36. Chapter 36

 

_G: ‘I’m not going to just say ok and let you leave without trying to talk you out of it.’_

Gerard keyed back, fingers tapping at the screen automatically, as if he had not been without a phone for weeks. Mikey had only wanted to prepare Gerard, warn him, that he had made his decision; the next night, to slip out, undetected – if possible.

Gerard wasn’t compliant with it by a long shot, not that Mikey thought he would be, but they _had_ briefly discussed it and in the back of Gerard’s mind he knew that he couldn’t talk Mikey out of it, no matter how inflexible he was. That seemed to be one of the few constants between _old_ Mikey and _new_ Mikey – stubbornness.

_MIKEY: ‘We talked abt this.’_

Mikey sent back, after a moment of thoughtful contemplation, Gerard’s fingers starting and stopping, as Mikey continued to send messages across the room.

_MIKEY: ‘What other options are there? Just keep running forever? Let me DO something’_

_MIKEY: ‘They already think I’m dead, I can get info…or idk do something to stop them. I can do SOMETHING and that’s better than                           nothing.’_

_G: ‘You sound insane’_

_G: ‘What makes you think they wont kill you instantly?’_

_Mikey: ‘Bcz. I know them.’_

_G: ‘You haven’t even thought this through have you’_

Gerard was getting frustrated, Mikey could tell by the way he was beginning to type, furiously and without regard to punctuation as time went on when normally he was so proficient.

_MIKEY: ‘What’s there to think about?’_

_G: ‘GETTING KILLED??’_

_G: ‘What’s there to think about…’_

_G: ‘You can’t be fucking serious’_

_MIKEY: ‘You have to trust me.”_

_G: ‘Like I trusted you before?’_

Mikey chewed at his lip in the dark, biting back a snide comment or dirty remark as best he could.

_MIKEY: ‘Low blow.’_

_G: ‘I’m sorry. I just, this doesn’t seem like a good idea.’_

_MIKEY: ‘Of course it’s not, but it’s all we’ve got.’_

_G: ‘You almost died, and now you want to go back’_

Mikey could hear the context even without Gerard having to speak it. It wasn’t a question, more or less a general statement of uneasiness that Gerard had to write out for it to become real in his own mind.

   _MIKEY: ‘They won’t even spot me. I don’t look anything like…me…anymore.’_

_G: ‘You’re still recognizable. Your hair, too.’_

_MIKEY: ‘I’ll wear a hat.’_

_G: ‘Shut the fuck up. How could they not pay attention to someone with an entirely black and blue face?’_

_MIKEY: ‘I’m serious; G. I bet they won’t even notice me. No one paid any attention to me before, anyway.’_

_MIKEY: ‘Also my face is more of a healing yellow now, thanks very much.’_

Gerard slammed the phone down onto his lap, Frank stirring beside him, half-asleep.

“You okay?” He questioned, voice dry and dazed.

“Yeah.” Gerard whispered, sighing as Frank laid his head back down.

He briefly squinted his eyes, turning to try to see Mikey’s shadow across the room, but he couldn’t see anything through the thick darkness. Faintly, Gerard could hear Mikey breathe in and out, and it was enough to comfort him to sleep.

 

 

Frank awoke to a patch of sunlight radiating through the window, a bright square on the coverlet near his feet. Gerard’s face was swathed into the pillow, his back rising and falling each few seconds that passed. Frank’s sleep wasn’t dreamless, but it was as empty as it had been for days. He crawled out of bed quietly, keeping his footsteps light so not to disturb the brothers.

There wasn’t much to do in the hotel room, and even less to do in whatever hick town they had set up shop in, Frank was sure. With still-shut eyes, Frank tiptoed to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and into his hair.

His normally clean-shaven jaw had turned scruffy, pinpricks of the beard Frank had always wished to be able to grow in his early twenties poking its way through. He rubbed a few fingertips over the stubble, upwards and downwards, and decided to leave it be – for now.

With his foot on top the counter, Frank pulled the hem of his boxer shorts up to review his injury. He had almost forgotten about it, these past few weeks; too busy running, moving, staying alive.

The long black scab had started to flake off days earlier, leaving a deep, burgundy, indented line where his flesh had been sliced open. The look of it made Frank’s spine quiver, the angry red blemish settling in his skin, to live there forever.

He covered it back up as he set his leg down, putting weight on his foot to feel the tightness in his thigh as it healed. No longer did he limp, having forced himself to blanket over the pain weeks earlier when he needed to carry Mikey’s comatose body in and out of temporary shelters.

It was early, that much Frank could tell by the amount of sunlight fielding its way into the room, through the thick grey shades. Gerard and Mikey remained asleep, neither one having moved an inch since Frank woke.

On a day like this, Frank would have normally slept in as long as his body had let him, waking around noon or possibly later, spending the rest of the day undertaking the meandering research for what was inevitably his next murder. It hit him a bit then, that days like that would likely never come again.

There would be no empty, silent, bliss the hours before Frank stepped into the shadows, and no humbling clean up after the fact, both of which kept Frank feeling grounded, in control. It was a terrifying reality, he realized, for the sole reason that Frank inevitably lacked the one thing that would carry him through such a major life change – purpose.

He considered himself for a moment, standing in the center of the motel room, in front of the two misshapen double beds. The room was nothing special by a long mile, just clean enough to be passable; yet the beige, almost unctuous shade, painted on the walls suggested it was covering up something less than sanitary.

Yet, it was far removed from the basement they had spent over a week in. Frank had never been much more than a shut in, but he longed for a bit of sunlight – just a little bit of warmth on his skin. If Gerard woke up and Frank wasn’t there, he wasn’t quite sure what would happen, but his feet seemed to move of their own accord.

He plucked his phone off the nightstand, turned it on and shoved it into the waistband of his boxers. Frank shut the heavy ivory door with a soft click, and walked out into the dingy hallway, though the maze of rooms, until he could see the doors in front of him. It was warm – hot really – outside for early in the morning. There was no one around, a good thing Frank realized, because he was still in a t-shirt and boxers, only socks on his feet.

He leaned up against the thick brick wall of the building, rough and scratchy on his back and wished he had a cigarette. Frank hadn’t smoked since he was a teenager, and even then it only served to exacerbate his fickle lungs, but something about the situation begged for one.

He spent a good ten minutes like that – just standing up against the wall, hands playing with the hem of his shirt for lack of pockets, eyes shut and sun on his skin until a gnawing sensation in the base of his neck forced him to snap back to reality.

He smacked at the back of his neck, the creeping feeling – like a bug on him, but it didn’t go away. The tingly sensation seemed to creep slowly into his skull and around his neck; similar to the very first millisecond of getting goosebumps – but it persisted.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, Frank decided, but strange. Soon, the feeling started to extend down his limbs, into his arms and down his legs. He remained standing, though the buzz in his legs made him want to collapse onto the concrete. Nothing about it was painful, but it was almost as if his whole body had the circulation cut off at the neck, the blood finally rushing back into his appendages.

Hesitantly, Frank turned his body, one foot in front of the other back into the building. He smiled awkwardly towards the woman at the counter who hadn’t been there when he walked out. Through the maze of rooms and in front of room 176, in the empty, red hallway – Frank stopped. He hadn’t taken a key card.

He bowed his neck from side to side, trying to relieve any pressure that might be causing the prickly feeling, but it did nothing but pop and crack. Tentatively, he knocked on the door, knowing that Gerard would _kill_ him once he realized, but he didn’t exactly have any other options.

He knocked again, a little harder, the nerves in his hand reverberating with the action. Finally, he heard a shuffling from inside, a creaking near the door and then it unlocking.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mikey whispered with haste. “Where did you go?” He rubbed at his eyes as he stepped away from the door, letting Frank through.

“I just went downstairs. I forgot to take a key card.” Frank shrugged, shoulders tingling.

“You’re lucky Gerard didn’t wake up.” Mikey scolded quietly, getting back into bed. Gerard hadn’t moved an inch since Frank left, his back rising and falling in the same fluid motion it had been earlier.

“I know, I know.” Frank bit back. “I just wanted to walk around a little.”

Mikey rolled over in the bed, his back towards Frank. “Take a key card and your phone next time.”

“I have my phone.” Frank sighed.

Mikey rolled back over for a moment, squinting at Frank. “Why didn’t you just text me?”

Frank made a face. “I forgot I could.” He pulled the phone out from the back of his shorts, setting it down on the nightstand near Gerard’s. With a deep sigh, Frank felt the tingling sensation in his body start to fade. Slowly but surely, it was as if the blood had finally re-circulated, and the feeling was gone.

Mikey had fallen back to sleep by then, Gerard finally stirring next to him, rolling over in Frank’s direction, eyes fluttering open. “You’re up.” He uttered, voice still filled with sleep.

“Mhm.” Frank hummed, sitting back so that he could face Gerard. “Got a lot of sleep yesterday.”

“How are you feeling?” Gerard probed as he readjusted the placement of his head on the pillow.

Frank measured him for a moment, keeping his face as neutral as possible. “Fine.” He said, before he could truly decide if he wanted to lie, or to tell the truth. “I feel fine.” He nodded, as if he were convincing himself.

Gerard nodded back, just slightly. However, Frank could tell he was skeptical. “That’s a good sign.”

“I think I just have a cold.” Frank said, instead. It was the most outlandish lie Frank could tell, and he was sure that Gerard did not believe one bit of it, but he made no visible reaction to Frank’s words. “Maybe.” He said as an afterthought, to soften the fib.

Gerard’s expression did not change; just let a few seconds go by before answering. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

 


	37. Chapter 37

“I don’t _want_ to leave yet.” Gerard grated, legs hanging limply off the side of the double bed and head facing the dated, popcorn ceiling. “It’s only been two days!”

“Two days long enough.” Frank exhaled. “We weren’t supposed to stop in the first place, right?”

Mikey kept his opinion to himself, something Frank loosely noted as unusual, but chose not to reflect on – occupied with struggling to fold his clothes and shove them into plastic bags without wrinkling them.

“Frank, don’t bother.” Gerard said conclusively, and Frank stilled his hands. “At least they’re clean. Wrinkled just comes with the territory.” The two of them had found a laundromat less than a block away and spent half of the early evening sitting in the car, in the dim light of the parking lot, waiting for their clothes to dry.

It was true – at least they were _clean_ , a fact that none of them had had the pleasure of for weeks at this point. Their bodies were clean, and their clothes were clean – even if, a little stiff.

Frank’s hair felt straw-like, motel shampoo having dried it out into brittle strands. He couldn’t help but think about the shampoo Gerard kept in his bathroom, soft and supple with brilliant hints of citrus. Frank’s hair had laid perfectly that day – swept backwards and out of his face, healthy brown locks just past his ears. But, it was clean, and that’s all that really mattered.

Frank grumbled and turned on his heel, away from the pile of clothes, loose sleeves hanging through the handles of plastic bags. “How are we doing on money?” He questioned, suddenly, looking over towards Gerard.

He nodded, left shoulder coming up to shrug in acceptance. “Fine. This room is only sixty five a night, so we’re doing okay I think.”

“I think we need to start thinking about, you know, long term plans.” Frank sighed.

Gerard looked uncomfortable with the subject, unsure how to answer, so he simply shrugged.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a day or two, and I think we have the best chances…” He stopped, clearly distressed, and shifted on his feet. “If we split up. Mikey and I together, and Gerard…somewhere safe.”

“That’s a dumb idea.” Mikey barked, a few feet away. Frank rolled his eyes. “If they think I’m dead, and Gerard never left, then they already think it’s just you out here…why split up?”

“They’re going to get desperate. They’re going to look for Gerard.” Frank shook his head. “When they realize he’s gone, they’ll know…”

“Stop acting like you know what they’re going to do, Frank.” Mikey argued, setting down the bible he, to Gerard’s dismay, had been consumed with for the past twenty-four hours. “You don’t. The only one with any idea of what might happen is me, and I’m telling you that it is a fucking stupid idea to split up.”

“Oh, fuck off, Mikey. Like we have any better chances sticking together. I am _not_ an idiot. They’ll find me at some point, and I don’t want Gerard to be with us when that happens.” Frank’s tone was escalating, his body tense and rigid.

“Don’t you think he’d rather be with us? With you?” Mikey snapped back.

“It doesn’t matter what he _wants,_ it matters what keeps him _safe._ ” Frank retorted, stepping forwards towards where Mikey was lounged on the bed.

“You’re…” Mikey began to yell, but was cut off by Gerard’s sudden movement around the room.

“ _Stop_ fucking talking about me like I’m not here!”

Frank’s face paled with indignance, hands pulling at the seams on his worn out jean pockets. “I’m not going to let you get killed, Gerard, so if that’s what you’re argument is, you can stop right there.”

“I can make my own decisions.” Gerard said simply, and Mikey nodded.

“I’m not debating this.” Said Frank, eyes pointed towards the beige carpeting. “It’s the safest decision for you. Mikey and I should stick together…maybe head back north…” He spoke the end of his words quietly. “And Gerard…you head in another direction. Or, I’ll move on by myself, but I would bet money that they figure out you’re alive sooner rather than later, Mikey. And if you get Gerard killed… ”

“Why?” Mikey questioned, almost immediately, as if offended by the idea. He sounded defensive, but Frank took no notice of it. Only Gerard shot him a warning look, cautioning him to keep his own ideas of heading back north to himself.

“Because you have information.” Gerard said, artlessly, changing the subject back on focus. “And I’m deadweight.”

“That’s a load of shit.” Frank snapped, turning his focus to Gerard. “I don’t want you getting _hurt_.”

“Sounds like an excuse.” Gerard shrugged, and from the guise on Mikey’s face, he agreed.

“It’s not and you know it.”

“Oh, okay.” Gerard mocked, his tone unexacting. “Because, I’m not, you know, a _marine,_ or anything _._ ” Frank stayed silent, waited for Gerard to continue. “I can handle myself _with ease_.”

“I said it’s not up for debate.” Frank said to close, rotating his back towards them as if it could possibly be the end of the conversation.

“No, you listen to me.” Gerard snapped, dragging Frank back by the shoulder. “I don’t know if this is you talking or… _whatever_ is making you sick…but I’m not just going to accept that.”

“Do you know what it’s like to ruin the life of someone you love, Gerard?” Frank snarled, ripping his appendage out of Gerard’s heavy grasp. “Do you know how that feels?”

Gerard looked at the back of Frank’s head for a long while, losing himself in thought. “Don’t compare me to her, Frank. This isn’t like that.”

“Different circumstance, sure, but very little difference in terms of possible outcomes.” Frank sighed, shoulders hunched forward still from where he had shrugged Gerard off.

“What’s he talking about?” Mikey interrogated, eyes narrowed, but Gerard waived him off.

“You haven’t ruined my life.”

“I can’t take this self-loathing, anymore.” Mikey uttered under his breath, annoyed, and picked the hotel bible back up into his thin hands. He flipped the pages until he was satisfied, and seemed to begin reading, though Gerard knew he was probably faking.

“I’m not self-loathing. I am _trying_ to take responsibility for our outcome, here. The choices I make now can change everyone’s fate.” Frank spoke carefully, choosing his words with caution.

“Again, I can make my own choices, Frank.” He took pause in between his words, treading dangerously between convincing Frank and breaking him. “So could Lillian.” Gerard continued, argument strong, but finding its place somewhere soft and ginger in Frank’s ears.

Frank considered it for a few seconds, his back unmoving, turned away from the older man. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He stated, quietly, and cleared his throat. Without speaking, he headed for the door, stuffing his phone in his pocket on the way. “Yes, I’m coming back.” He advised, just as he opened the hotel room door, before Gerard had a moment to ask.

A few noiseless ticks went by after the door clicked shut, the only sound in the room Mikey’s lanky fingers snaking through the whisper thin pages of the bible. “Who’s Lillian?”

Gerard exhaled loudly, sitting at the foot of Mikey’s double bed. “Not for me to tell you.”

“And…” Mikey urged.

Gerard made a disobliging noise, but opened his mouth to speak again. “A friend of Frank’s. Things didn’t end well.”

“He kill her?” Mikey tested, without skipping a beat.

“No!”

“So why is he so broken up about it?”

Gerard stumbled over his words. “He…I…it’s a long story, and it’s not mine to tell.”

Mikey seemed to understand then, nodding and sitting back against the headboard. “Frank’s rosebud, basically.”

Gerard didn’t make any indication that he had heard Mikey at first, but after a moment of contemplation, he nodded. “I guess you could say that.”

 

 

_“Everythin’.” He spoke fluidly, arms moving about the wooden desk with haste. “Don’ leave out a detail.”_

_“It’s all there.” Sarah said calmly, across from her father, papers strewn about the mahogany._

_“I can see ‘at.” He replied. “I need ta’ know that you know.”_

_Sarah sighed, wracking her brain for the information she knew was in there somewhere. “Frank Iero. Twenty five…” He cut her off, hand coming up in front of his face to still Sarah’s words._

_“Birthdate.”_

_She closed her eyes tight, fighting the urge to roll them in defiance. “October…thirteenth…nineteen ninety.”_

_“Thirty first, Sorcha.”_

_“Right, thirty first, sorry.”_

_“Traits.” He barked next, eyes not moving from the file in front of him._

_“Stubbornness…” She gritted her teeth, having come face to face with his obstinacy firsthand._

_“Programmed or biological?”_

_“Biological.” Without a doubt, she thought._

_“Go on.”_

_She sighed, trying to recall. “Strategic – that’s biological. He is wrathful, programmed. Also programmed to be uncontrolled, but conscientious. Really, all we needed to do was give him motive and…”_

_“He is the rest.” Her father spoke, and if she didn’t know better, his voice almost sounded fascinated. “Family?”_

_“None.”_

_“None?”_

_“No, sir. Mother passed in two thousand seven. No siblings.”_

_“Extended?” He questioned, eyes narrowed._

_“Her father, Iero’s grandfather…Italian. He passed in two thousand nine. But, that’s all.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs, unable to focus on the task in front of her._

_“Very good.” He said, finally, pushing aside a green folder and replacing it with a grey one. “We send out reapers’ in the morning.”_

_Sarah’s face paled, and she sat forward. “Reapers’?” She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing with the motion. “Isn’t it a little soon?”_

_He shook his head, eyes still placed directly below her eye line. “Well e’s not gonna’ just come back, and the collectors have had two weeks.”_

_“But they’ll kill him.”_

_He shrugged. “An’ that’s not what we want; we want ta’ reset the boy, but we can’t just ‘ave ‘m out there.” He cleared his throat, and looked up at her for the first time since they had begun the conversation. “They ‘ave strict orders to bring ‘em back, to avoid killin’ ‘im when possible.”_

_She exhaled, uncomfortable. “Do we have any leads? Any ideas of where he may have headed? Collectors raided his apartment weeks ago; he could be countries away by now.”_

_“Doubt it.” He said, shortly. “Only twice ‘ave we had someone skip the border. Spore devices’ were updated fourteen years ago to shut off over four t’ousand miles. Mr. Iero’s seems ta’ be tracking just fine.”_

_“I don’t understand.” She goaded, pinching at the bridge of her nose. “Why can’t we track them with a GPS?”_

_“Tried it.” Her father shook his head, ran a finger down the page in front of him to follow his notes. “Too much interference, the device became discoverable. Feedback with computers, cell phones. Couple agents took a gun to the head just ta’ stop the interference.”_

_“Christ.”_

_“The spore is, in technological terms, primitive.” He said, voice sounding more eloquent than Sarah was used to hearing. “Once somethin’s inside ‘em, they’re a hell of a lot more sensitive to it.”_

_“What about future updates?” She questioned, before she was able to stop herself. “It’s been a long time, then, what about the potential for new developments?”_

_He hummed, and sat back in his chair. “We ‘ave a cognizance test, Justin’s project, ya’ know…” He continued. “But I’m shuttin’ it down.”_

_“Why?!” She nearly yelled, acutely aware of the sound of her voice cracking. At that moment, it was her only link to Frank, her only control over him._

_“’Ya’ can’t spread this around, it’s confidential – but, the death rate fer activated devices is o’er sixty percent. Almost a hundred percent o’er a certain level. Only the newest spore’s can ‘andle the technology. It’s not ready yet. Couple more years.”_

_She chewed at her lip, having full knowledge that Frank’s spore wouldn’t be able to handle the activation of such technology, but only now realizing fully how dire the consequences may be. “I have to get back to work.” She stated, an attempt to keep her voice from sounding frantic._

_“Seven a.m. sharp, Sorcha.” He said, her body halfway through the doorframe. “You should be there ta’ see e’m off.” She nodded, even though he couldn’t see, as she walked bodily down the narrow hallway._

_“Fuck. Fuck.”_


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RETURN!

Frank had forgotten his shoes; he had forgotten his socks. He was worried that he had begun to forget _himself,_ if he was relatively honest. Something inside him had festered up, flouting free at the surface and spewing out of his mouth, argumentative. He hadn’t meant to upset anyone, he hadn’t even meant to bring it up. Something in his nature was changing, making him combative and confrontational in a way that he never was before.

Or, at least, he never thought he was. There was an itch inside him that he yearned to scratch; a burning, searing, passion that had not been sated in nearly two months. He was starved, wasted with the hunger of another kill that he kept telling himself could never come. But, he’d never wanted it like this, as if it were such a hominid constitution as breathing, and without another breath, he would die.

Grey pebbles beneath his feet dug into the soft flesh with each stride he took, further from the motel. He kept his head down, hands in his pockets. The fuzzy feeling was back, deep in his spine. As if he had fallen asleep from the neck down, each step trying to shake his blood-depleted limbs awake.

Around the building, he decided. He would walk around the wooded trail that separated the motel from the main road; the back woods saplings lining what was a piss-poor attempt to turn a worn out, redneck town into a hipster-hangout. About half way, the gravel turned to dirt and led into a dark and narrow path, the only beacon lighting his way the motel sign about five hundred feet away.

He stopped, perched himself up against a thick, black, tree and stared towards the horizon. He tried to pick out which motel room was theirs, but the windows were too small and too hazy for him to make out. He breathed deeply, and again, wished he’d had a cigarette to at least keep his hands busy.

He felt bad, guilty even, for lashing out. For suggesting that Gerard leave and not look back, even if it was the safest bet for him. In an opposite situation, Frank figured he would be just as offended by the suggestion as Gerard has been. Nevertheless, he wasn’t wrong, and no matter how badly he felt about voicing it, he knew that. He was not wrong.

He bit at his cheek, pushed himself off the tree and turned his back to the road, intending to head deeper into the trail. A gurgling sound behind him pulled his focus back again, headlights lighting up his shadow on the ground below him.

“Lookin’ for a ride?”

Frank turned around, squinting from the glare of the lights. “No, thanks.” He uttered, backing away from the idling truck. There were diesel fumes puffing out the back end, filling his lungs with a sickly grey smoke.

“What you doin’ out here all by yourself?” The voice asked, though Frank could not see the face it was coming from in the dark.

Frank shrugged, tried to focus on the shadowy figure poking its head out of the lifted truck window. “Walking.” He turned around, took a few steps further down the trail, the truck following alongside it on the road, engine babbling.

“Y’ain’t got nowhere to walk to back there, friend. Let me give you a ride back into town.”

Frank shook his head, sighed. “No, I’m just taking a breath. I don’t need to go into town.”

The truck stopped again, just as the road and the trail began to fork in different directions. This time, Frank could hear the sound of the axle shifting into park, headlights dimming. The passenger side door flung open, nearest Frank. “C’mon. I ain’t gon’ bite.”

“No, really.” Frank replied quickly, backing away from the door. The figure in the driver’ seat shuffled over, legs swinging out of the cabin and on to the dirt road.

“Why you city folk always gotta’ do this the hard way?” He questioned, the stench of whiskey strong on his breath, and pulled out a small, unassuming pocketknife from his waistband. “Come on then, empty ‘em.”

Frank shook his head, more in disbelief than defiance. “I don’t have anything.”

“Sure. Ain’t heard that one before.” The man stepped forward a bit more, the sharp end of the knife all but poking into Frank’s stomach.

“I’m serious.” Frank pulled the pockets of his jeans out, nothing but lint and air.

The man seemed bemused, shifted wearily on his feet. “Why you don’t have nothin’?”

“’Cause.” Frank thought about it for a moment, narrowed his eyes. “I just escaped.” He cleared his throat. “From prison.”

“Liar.” He spat, but Frank could tell he was fascinated.

“I’m serious, look.” Frank nodded downwards, lifting up his foot into the light from the headlamps and wiggled his bare toes. “Only had time to run with the clothes on my back. They took everything when they booked me, even my shoes.”

“What they got you for?” He questioned, eyes wide and knife still directed at Frank’s midsection.

Frank crossed his arm, jutted out his hip – casual. “Murder.”

He must not have been expecting it, for as soon as Frank finished the word, the knife was pulled from the air and the man was hurrying back to the open door of his truck. “Leaving so soon?” Frank tested, walking towards the truck. “I changed my mind, I’d really like a ride, friend.”

The man shuffled into the truck for a moment and then slid back out, stumbling as he pulled a break action shotgun from the back seat of the cabin. He perched the weapon on his shoulder, the muzzle of the gun pointed near Frank’s face. “Y’ain’t from around here.” It wasn’t a question.

From this distance, if he shot, Frank would surely be killed, despite the obvious age of the gun. He held his hands stiffly near his sides, careful not to make any sudden movements that would trigger the drunken man and cause him to blow Frank’s head clear off his shoulders.

“Tryin’ to pull one over on me.” The man waggled the barrel of the gun in front of Frank’s face, unsteady. “I ain’t stupid.”

“I beg to diffe…” It was the wrong thing to say, Frank realized, before he could even finish the sentence. The man smacked the barrel of the shotgun into Frank’s jaw, a sharp pain in his cheek and lip, followed by the familiar iron taste of blood.

“Shut your mouth, boy.” He barked, as Frank reeled backwards, pulled a hand up to his face, and wiped away the blood that had immediately begun to collect on his lips. Even with a shotgun, the man was too drunk and too paunchy to be a real threat to him, demonstrated by the way that Frank flung his body forward, bludgeoning the man in the face with the barrel of the gun that had been sitting precariously upon his shoulders.

He stumbled rearward, his back crashing into the metal frame of the truck with a thud. He looked up at Frank, black eyes with blown pupils searching his face for a threat. “Let’s find out how stupid you are.” He grabbed the man by the collar of his flannel jacket, dragging his heavy form down to the ground. “Together.”

“Get off me!” The man groaned, through labored breaths. He was on his back, Frank’s knees pinning his shoulders to the ground. The shotgun was on the dirt trail beside them, useless, though it did not stop the man from trying to reach for it.

“Ah, ah.” Frank tittered, and stepped down on the man’s hand. This was much more effective when he had boots on, usually crushing and breaking a finger or two, but it at least kept him steady and unable to reach the weapon for a moment. Frank bent over to the side, picking up the gun with swift hands. “You know, I don’t usually use guns.” He declared, looking through down the scope of the barrel. “Too messy.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” The man, under him, growled once he had caught his breath. “Get off’a me…” He squirmed beneath Frank, but Frank kept his legs solid, knees to the ground. He had done this a dozen times, and even the strongest and largest person could be kept down with the right angle and a little pressure.

Frank pointed the muzzle of the shotgun between the man’s eyes, just atop his forehead, and pushed down so that his head met the ground firmly. “Why don’t you count for me?” Frank could feel his mind going hazy, a thick fog clouding his thoughts – and all he could see was blood.

The man said nothing. He didn’t shake his head, or open his mouth; as if he were to keep quiet, Frank wouldn’t pull the trigger. “C’mon, I’ll get you started. One…two…”

“Please…” He begged, finally, making meager attempt to shake Frank off. “I’m sorry, please.”

Frank grinned, something horrible, birthed from his psyche and festering in his veins. He wanted to kill him… _had_ to kill him. He wanted to see this man’s blood, taste it, feel it…

“Frank!” A voice shouted, a few dozen feet away. It was a strange mixture of whisper and a yell, but not enough to convince Frank to lower the gun, or to look up at where the voice was coming from. “Frank, stop.” The voice said again, in front of him now, and reaching out, closer, closer…

“Just let me kill him!” Frank shouted, voice cracking. He dug the tip of the gun brutally into the man’s skull and grit his teeth. “I _have_ to kill him!”

“No!” Arms were wrapping around Frank’s shoulders, heaving him backwards. Frank held tightly to the gun, even as he was being hauled off the body below him. Quickly, the man scurried backwards, a sort of half crawl that made Frank’s spine twitch with need to chase him. “Get in your truck and leave. Now.” The voice demanded.

The man did not argue, simply lifted himself off the ground and darted into his truck. In an instant, it was shifting into drive and racing down the road, further and further away from the motel, until Frank couldn’t see the taillights any longer.

The shotgun hung limply at Frank’s side, his back pressed up against the warm body behind him, which Frank now realized as Gerard’s by the strength with which he held him. “He wasn’t worth it, Frank.”

“He was trying to rob me.”

Gerard shrugged, and turned Frank around to face him, the shotgun dragging on the dirt trail as he turned. “Look at me.” Frank lifted his chin, dried blood still covering his mouth, and sighed – something different, tentative, in his movements this time. “We need to end this.”

Frank looked confused at first, and then it settled on him, in bits and pieces. “What happened to running?”

Gerard shook his head sadly. “You’re…you know why that won’t work anymore.”

Frank acquiesced before he even considered arguing; he _did_ know. He wasn’t himself, he wasn’t happy. No one was. “We could die.”

“And you can’t live like this.” Gerard countered. “And I don’t want to live with you living…like this.” He smiled sadly, and exhaled. “Every day…it gets worse.”

Frank swallowed hard, trying to break through the fog in his mind, but it was becoming harder and harder as the days went on. Gerard was right. “You’ll be by my side?”

“Every step of the way.


	39. Chapter 39

“Were you really going to kill him?” Gerard probed, almost casually, as they made their way back towards the dim light of the motel.

Frank shook his head, though Gerard could not see it in the dark. “Nah.” Gerard didn’t entirely believe him, and Frank probably believed it even less. He would have killed him; he _wanted_ to kill him with an urge that was almost primal. If Gerard hadn’t showed up, Frank was almost certain he would have done just that.

“Did you follow me?” Frank asked, changing the subject just enough to take the pressure off of himself. The shotgun he had insisted on taking with them was dragging on the ground behind him, clanking as the barrel hit the pavement.

“I waited a few minutes, but yeah, I guess I did.” He shrugged, grabbed Frank’s hand which had been swaying near his side and clutched it tight. “I was just going to trail behind, make sure you were okay, but…”

“Yeah.” Frank squeezed Gerard’s hand lightly, a simple gesture that let Gerard know he understood. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

It was silent from then until they arrived back at the motel room door, still hand in hand, though Gerard’s grip had loosened a bit. He had clearly recoiled when Frank stepped into the light, and the dried blood on his chin was in full view. Frank licked at it as Gerard pushed open the door, the taste of iron in his mouth, feeling a mixture of pleasure and nausea.

“Did you find him?” Mikey questioned from around the doorframe, not looking up to see for himself.

“Yep.” Frank answered for Gerard, peering around the corner.

Mikey pinched at the bridge of his nose as soon as he caught sight of Frank, brows furrowed and pulled forward. “How?” He gestured to Frank’s face, to the gun in his hand, but he only shrugged.

“Long story.” Frank flung the dirtied shotgun onto the bed he and Gerard shared and turned for the bathroom.

Mikey seemed dissatisfied with the response, and looked to his brother for answers, wide eyed, but he was busy dampening a cloth in the sink. “C’mere.” He beckoned, and Frank did. Gently, Gerard wiped away the blood from his lip until it was clean, just a split lip and a faintly reddened chin underneath. “He didn’t get you too bad.”

“It isn’t anything I should be worried about, right?” Mikey shouted, still sitting on the bed. “Is someone going to break down the door?”

“Do you really think we would have come back here if someone was chasing us?” Frank scoffed, tossing the damp rag on to the bathroom floor and marching into the center of the room.

Mikey shrugged him off and yawned. “We need to talk, Mikes.” Gerard said, trailing behind Frank. Mikey narrowed his eyes and sat forward.

“Okay?” Gerard shifted feet, sighed, and Mikey already knew. “He knows, doesn’t he?”

Frank’s face turned sour, body shifting in mild reaction towards Gerard. “Know _what_?”

“Jesus Christ, Mikey.” Gerard grated and shook his head. “He does now.”

“Someone want to clue me in on what it is I _don’t_ know?” Frank’s voice was dripping with a calmness that was almost dangerous. His face was blank as he stared up towards Gerard, and for a moment, Gerard was…scared.

“Uh.” He stumbled, trying to shake the fear out of his limbs. “Mikey was going to go back, alone.”

Frank cackled. “That’s really stupid.”

“Well, it’s my decision.” Mikey said, sternly, and folded his arms. Frank stayed silent, let him finish. “And I’m going anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s the…” Gerard began, but Frank cut him off, too quick to tell Mikey that the three of them needed to head back together, despite the oncoming protest from the younger brother they were sure to receive.

“We’re all going.” Gerard shot Frank a warning look, and he made a face. “Sorry.” Frank replied, under his breath. He hadn’t meant to step all over Gerard’s words.

Mikey didn’t react immediately, but Frank looked impatient and he narrowed his eyes towards the blonde. “I think that’s a bad idea.”

“No more so than you going alone.” Frank kept his voice low.

Gerard chewed at his tongue, watched the interaction, eyes darting from Frank to Mikey and back.

Mikey averted his eyes from the other two, tapped his knuckles together, and nodded his head a few seconds later. “Alright, but I go in first. I need you to remember that _I am_ the only one with experience with these people. Understood?” Mikey’s words were surprisingly effective, Frank agreeing a few moments later, nodding his head and uttered a small “yes”, wrenched from his chest.

“Good. We need a plan.” Mikey declared next, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and reached across the nightstand. He picked up a notepad ‘Motel Six’ written in bright green letters across the top. “And we need weapons.”

“We’ve got Gerard’s pistol. And a few knives, a bat. Oh, and the shotgun.” Frank counted off, as he lowered himself to the floor, his back up against the double bed. Mikey joined him on the floor, slinking down from his own bed and sitting cross-legged in front of Frank.

Gerard carefully sat up against the nightstand, facing them from the inside. “It’s not enough.”

“It’s definitely not.” Mikey agreed, to Frank’s dismay.

“How is that not enough?” He scoffed, cracking his knuckles to drive in his point. “I’ve killed more than I can count with nothing but a pocket knife.”

Gerard swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring. It wasn’t the words Frank said – Gerard _knew_ that Frank had a preference for…well, _personal_ killings – but it was the way he said it; so calmly, so passive, so dark…

“These are _rigorously_ trained security personnel, Frank. You’re going to need more than a pocket knife.” Mikey countered.

“Fine. I want to be out front, though. I’m running this.” Frank replied, defiant.

“No.” Gerard cleared his throat, took his moment to speak up then. “I should.”

Frank almost waved him off, disregarded Gerard’s chivalry, but it dawned on him…Gerard was the only one…

“I know how to handle it.” Gerard replied, before Frank could finish his thought. “I know how to carry a front line, and how to get around unnoticed with weaponry.

Mikey nodded, agreeing. “What do you suggest?”

Gerard shut his eyes, tried to enter the place where he kept his Marine memories locked away; tried to dig into them without sending himself into a panic. Frank seemed to take notice and set his hand gently on Gerard’s knee, stilling him where he had begun to shake.

“A 12 gauge, at least two of them. One for me and one for Frank.” Gerard’s face had turned white, eyes still shut tight. “Mikey, you should carry a pistol. Something quiet, concealed, since you’ll be trying to navigate.”

“I’m not great with guns, Gerard. I’d really feel better with…” Frank attempted to say, honestly, hand still pressing at Gerard’s knee.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll show you.” Gerard answered quickly, eyes opening for a brief second to look at Frank who shuddered. “I’ll carry the shotgun. It’s not going to be much help, but just in case…”

“Anything else?” Mikey questioned, writing quickly on the notepad in front of him.

Gerard shook his head, opened his eyes. “Nothing else you can get outside of the military. Not anything that wouldn’t be immediately obvious, at least, like an AK.”

Mikey nodded and set the paper down. “Alright, then.” He stared at it for a moment, concentrating, before speaking again. “How do we get them?”

Frank sighed, uneasy. “Leave that to me.”

“We can’t buy these legally, Frank.” Gerard clarified, and Frank rolled his eyes.

“Of course not.” He gripped the burner phone from the back of his pants, turned it on and began to dial a number. “I know someone.”

Gerard looked at him suspiciously, but didn’t question it. “I guess he’s got a guy.” He shrugged in Mikey’s direction.

“I buy…I _used_ to buy off them back in Jersey. I know they have access to unregistered shit, too, but I never messed with the heavy stuff.”

“And you just…know the number by heart?” Mikey probed, suspicious.

Frank brought the phone up to his ear, ringing. “No, I kept my contact saved in my phone as ‘arms dealer’.” Frank rolled his eyes. “Of course I memor…” Frank cut his words short, heard the phone click in answer. “Hi, I’d like to place an order for delivery. Tomorrow, for a…uh, big party I’m having.”

“What the fuck?” Mikey murmured under his breath, but Gerard could only shrug.

“I’m a bit out of your delivery area, I hope that’s okay.” Frank said casually, though he was chewing a red spot into his lip, just above where it had been split. “Okay…Yeah, twenty miles. That’s fine…”

Gerard watched him nervously, trying his hardest to hear what the person on the other line was saying, but there was only silence. “I’d like a number 13. With uh…shit.” Frank pressed at his forehead with his fingertips. “With mushrooms. Lots of mushrooms…okay, tomorrow at 9, sounds great.”

Frank hung up the phone, swallowed, and turned towards Gerard. “Well?” He questioned.

“Tomorrow at 9. There’s a warehouse in Cherry Hill…We’ve met there once before.”

Mikey let out a breath. “That was…weird. You sure that was the right guy?”

Frank nodded, pushed himself up off of the ground to stand and looked down at the brothers. “She.” He tossed his phone on the bed and started gathering his clothes. “And yeah, I’m sure.” They both looked unsure, but Gerard trusted Frank, and so by extension, so did Mikey. “We’d better get ready if we’re going to get back up to Jersey by tomorrow night.”


	40. Chapter 40

The sound of the road crumbling beneath the car tires seemed to become deafening the more northern they drove. Frank didn’t remember the droning sound being so loud before, but he guessed it had always been that way – he was just acutely aware of his surroundings as his guard drew higher.

He had spent the better part of an hour picking apart all of the rudiments that made up Gerard’s face. He was laid somewhat sideways on the passenger seat, facing him as he drove, the seatbelt digging into his neck and eyes set forward and focused. As far as Gerard knew, Frank was fast asleep, but Frank didn’t mind the silence.

Frank would squint his eyes just enough that if Gerard glanced over he could shut them and pretend – but they were just open enough to inspect the man in front of him. His skin translucent white and free of blemishes – aside from one, tiny, burst blood vessel in his cheek, just under his right eye. There were faint, fine tracks that encircled his mouth and only truly presented themselves when Gerard was laughing. His cheekbones were smooth, but prominent, and his jaw soft but clean.

He was classically attractive, Frank decided – when he presented himself properly. When Gerard was angry and stood up tall, Frank thought, combed his hair and wore clothes that fit him suitably, Frank was positive he’d be fighting potential mates off with a stick. Maybe that’s what drew Frank to him – the boy that, underneath the slouch and uncombed mane, was a strong, defined, striking _man._ The Marine. All Frank wanted to do was reveal in this moment the magnificence in someone who thought they were so ordinary – he would make it his life’s mission to prove him mistaken.

So why did he like _Frank_? He pondered, as his eyes began to sink lower, taking in his own collapsed form. Maybe it had been the façade of mystery, of danger. Frank knew better than anyone; the sensation of fear made every emotion, kiss – fuck – far more satisfying. Though, if that were the case, any reasonable person would have bolted the moment that _real_ danger reared it’s ugly head.

Gerard had stuck by him; and unbelievably so. He’d believed him when he said he held true to his morals, however flawed they were; he’d believed _in_ him, and possibly the most curious of all, he had loved him throughout.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Gerard tittered, and Frank snapped his eyes shut, but it was too late.

“I wasn’t.” Frank said quietly, attempting to sound mild.

“You totally were.” Gerard hummed, finished with a yawn. “I could feel it.”

Frank let out a huff, more in surrender than in annoyance. “Okay, fine. I was looking at you.” He sat up, rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling the familiar buzz in his bones. There was no use in denying it any longer, he would stare at Gerard until the end of time if he would let him.

“Did you sleep at all?” Gerard questioned, exchanging glances between Frank and the road in front of them.

Frank shook his head. “Nah. I’m too…I don’t know.” He didn’t know how to finish, how to explain _how_ he felt. He bore an anxiety, but somewhere deep inside, not quite bubbled up to the surface yet.

“Me too.” Gerard agreed, cocked his mouth to the side in thought. “Let’s just listen to the radio, try and relax, yeah?” Gerard clicked the radio off mute, dialing through channels, trying to get something to come in but all that came through was static. Gerard grumbled to himself, twisting the knob until some sound came out, resembling a song.

Frank rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to calm the prickly feeling that was beginning to run down his spine. He tried to focus in on the music, on the quiet voices coming from the radio, but it was starting to become impossible.

He leaned forward, set his head in his lap and took a deep breath, stretching his back, but it only served to make the sensation worse. “You alright?” Gerard questioned, reaching a hand over to place it gently on Frank’s upper back.

He recoiled from Gerard’s touch without a thought, the touch of Gerard’s fingers like an electric shock directly to his already tender vertebrae. “Ughnn.” He groaned, arching up.

“What’s wrong?” Gerard’s voice came out high-pitched and whiney, the way it only did when he was truly frightened. He turned the radio back down, silently waiting for Frank to answer…say something…anything.

After a few minutes Frank grit his teeth and straightened himself back up. “I don’t know.”

“Did I hurt you?” Gerard questioned, attempting to keep the car in between the lines as he reviewed Frank’s worsening state.

“No…Not you.” Frank grunted. “I can’t describe it.” Gerard began to slow down, the only car on the highway for miles, and pulled off to the side. “No, don’t pull over. I’ll be okay.”

There was a stirring from the backseat, Mikey, unbuckling and sitting forward. “Are we here already?” He questioned, groggily.

“No, not yet.” Gerard shook his head. “About halfway.”

“Oh shit.” Mikey sniffled, rubbed at his eyes. He glanced forward at Frank who was tensed and huddled forward; he cringed. “Is Frank getting sick again?”

“Mmm.” Frank replied, attempting to say no, but it came out as a whine. “Different.” Violent streams of stirring agony were now making their way into his shoulders and down his back.

“How?” Mikey asked, and Gerard looked over at him worriedly. “Tell me exactly.”

“I…” Frank sighed, the electric sparks finding their way down his arms and into his fingers, feeling as if things would light fire upon his touch. He tried to breath, but his chest, too tight, wouldn’t expand. His extremities felt as though they had been strung from the inside out with rusted wire and fastened to a light socket.

Gerard looked around the car nervously, trying to find something to do, to help, but all he could do was watch as Frank began to twitch and shake. “Frank, what’s happening?” He asked, terrified, but there was no response. Frank’s head was spinning and Gerard’s voice grew father and farther away, until all he could hear was the sound of his own teeth chattering in his mouth – and then nothing at all.

Mikey pulled himself up closer, taking ahold of Frank’s shoulders to pull his figure backwards, the seat flinging back underneath him as Mikey’s other hand grasped the lever beside it. Frank’s eyes were shut tight, teeth gritted, once he was flattened out and in full view.

It took everything in Gerard’s power not to touch him. He looked so small, lying there, trembling. “Are you cold?” Gerard questioned, but Frank did not answer.

In an instant, Frank’s mild quivering turned into vicious shaking; his arms, still at his sides, were flopping off the seat, his head jutting forward and trembling and his jaw becoming noticeably rigid.

“What’s happening?” Gerard all but shouted, voice amplified in the small cabin of the car. Unable to stop himself any longer, he reached forward and embraced Frank, pulling his unsteady upper body across the bench seat and into his lap. Frank’s shaking only got stronger, his legs and hands jerking violently against the fabric.

“I think he’s having a seizure.” Mikey uttered, realization hitting him. “Just hang on to him.”

“Shhh.” Gerard cooed, as if it would ease Frank’s pain, and nuzzled at his clammy forehead. “Shh, it’s going to be okay.”

Frank continued to jerk for what felt like an eternity. Once his body finally calmed down, slowly, Gerard loosened his grip. Frank remained unconscious, full body weight lax against Gerard’s soft lap.

“Does he…have epilepsy?” Mikey questioned, once Frank had remained motionless and quiet for long enough he felt safe to ask.

“No.” Gerard answered; chin still pressed next to Frank’s shoulder. “I mean, I don’t think so.” Gerard pulled him forward, sat back and laid him carefully back down. He shut the car off and dimmed the headlights, allowing them to relax for a few moments as they waited.

It was another twenty minutes before Frank came to, blinking his eyes nervously as he tried to make sense of what had happened and where he was. He felt around the fabric of the car seats for a moment before Gerard realized what was happening.

“Hey…hey…” He uttered, tapping on the back of his seat to get Mikey’s attention. “Frank?”

“Mmm?” He questioned, still dazed. “Wher’re we?” He slurred his voice just a bit, and attempting to sit up.

“Just relax for a minute. Gerard’s got you.” Mikey said, inching forward to look at him. It was getting dark now, and it was hard to make out Frank’s state in the dim light.

He tried to sit up, but Gerard kept his grip strong. “Just relax for a minute.”

Frank shook his head, wispy bangs falling in front of his face. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember anything?” Mikey asked, his brow pursed.

Frank shook his head again. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten in the position he was, his back pressed tightly up against Gerard’s chest. “I remember looking at you.” Frank said, and Gerard knew what he meant.

“You don’t remember talking to me?” Gerard questioned, pushing the stray hairs that had fallen into Frank’s face away from his eyes.

Frank sighed resignedly, he couldn’t recall. “No.”

Mikey hummed from the backseat. “We need to keep going.” He let the words linger in the air for a few moments before continuing. “If we want this to stop. If we want answers.”

 

 

_“I told you to be careful.” Justin said, something less than disappointment apparent in his voice._

_“You can’t just shut it off?” Sarah whined._

_“I could have, had you warned me when he told you about the project being wiped and not three days later.” He deadpanned. “But I don’t have the clearances anymore. The old man has shut everything down, voided the systems…I told you from the beginning that this was dangerous.”_

_Sarah stammered, watching Justin pack his things in the lab that now looked so bare. “I didn’t realize!”_

_“I warned you.” He spat, slamming a picture frame into a brown box. “I warned you about the mortality rate…you were insistent.” He shook his head, regretful. “Now it’s your problem to deal with.”_

_“Justin…Justin…” She stumbled after him as he picked up his box and began heading past her. She grasped onto his shirtsleeve, keeping him from getting too far away._

_He looked at her for a long moment, his face jagged with disgust eventually settling into the very picture of pity. “I have to come to terms with the fact that this project killed hundreds.” He said, tone dreadful. “What’s one more?”_

_“Justin…wait…”Sarah scrambled to follow him, but he was too quick. She lost grasp on his shirt sleeve, slipping through her fingers like a ghost. She could only stand there and watch as he strode down the corridor, box in hand._


End file.
